WORKS    OF   CHARLES   DICKENS. 


"CARLETON'S  NE  W  ILLUSTRATED  EDITION." 


XIX. -EDWIN   DROOD, 


MISCELLANEOUS      PIECES. 


Charles  Dickens9  Works. 

Carleton's  New  Illustrated  Edition." 


I. — riTKWICK  PAPERS. 

2.  —  OLIVER    TWIST. 

3. — DAVID  COPPERFIELD. 

4. — GREAT   EXPECTATIONS. 

5. — DOMISEY   AND   SON. 

6. — BARNABY  RUDGE. 

7. — NICHOLAS    NICKLEBY. 

8. — OLD    CURIOSITY    SHOP. 

9. — BLEAK    HOUSE. 
10. — LITTLE   DORRIT. 
II. — MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 
I2.  —  OUR    MUTUAL    FRIEND. 
13. —TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES. 
I4. — CHRISTMAS    BOOKS. 
15. — SKETCHES   BY    "  BOZ," 
l6. — HARD   TIMES,    ETC. 
17. — PICTURES    OF   ITALY,    ETC. 
l8. — UNCOMMERCIAL   TRAVELLER. 
19. — EDWIN    DROOD,    ETC. 
20. — ENGLAND   AND    CATALOGUE. 


All  published  uniform  with  this  volume.     Price  $1.50 

each,  and  sent  free  by  mail,  on  receipt 

of  price,  by 

G.    W.    CARLETON    &    CO., 

New   York. 


Charles  Dickens9  Works, 

1  Carleton's  New  Illustrated  Edition." 


I. — PICKWICK  PAPERS. 

2. —  OLIVER   TWIST. 

3. — DAVID  COrPERFIELD. 

4. — GREAT   EXPECTATIONS. 

5. — DOMBEY   AND   SON. 

6. — BARNABY    RUDGE. 

7. — NICHOLAS    NICKLEBY. 

8. — OLD    CURIOSITY    SHOP. 

9. — BLEAK    HOUSE. 
IO. — LITTLE   DORRIT. 
Ug — MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 
12.  —  OUR    MUTUAL    FRIEND. 
13. — TALE   OF   TWO    CITIES. 
I4. — CHRISTMAS    BOOKS. 
15. — SKETCHES    BY    "  BOZ," 
l6. — HARD   TIMES,    ETC. 
17. — PICTURES    OF   ITALY,    ETC. 
l8. — UNCOMMERCIAL   TRAVELLER. 
I9. — EDWIN    DROOD,    ETC. 
20. — ENGLAND   AND    CATALOGUE. 


All  published  uniform  with  this  volume.     Price  $1.50 

each,  and  sent  free  by  mail,  on  receipt 

of  price,  by 

G.    W.    CABLETON    &    CO., 
New    York. 


["CAItLETON'S     KEW     ILLUSTRATED     EDITION."] 


THE 


VlYSTERY  OF  Jt^DWIN  UrOOD, 


MISCELLANEOUS  'PIECES. 


By   CHARLES   DICKENS. 


WITH   ILLUSTRATION'S    BY   S.    L.    TILDES. 


\ 

NEW    YORK: 

G.  W.  Carl et on  QT  Co.,  Publishers. 

LONDON  :    CHAPMAN    &    HALL. 
M  DCCCLXXIV. 


Stereotyped  at  tiw 

Wombw's   Printing   Hovsb, 

56,  5S  &  60  Park  St., 

New  York. 


John  F.  Trow  &  Son,  Printers, 
205-213  East  kth  St.,  N.w  York 


CONTENTS. 


Al      , 

MPst-hJ 


THE   MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN    DROOD. 

CHAPTER  PACK 

I.— The  Dawn , 9 

II. — A  Dean,  and  a  Chapter  also 12 

III. — The  Nuns'  House 23 

IV. — Mr.  Sapsea 33 

V. — Mr.  Durdles  and  Friend 42 

VI. — Philanthropy  in  Minor  Canon  Corner 48 

VII. — More  Confidences  than  One 57 

VIII. — Daggers  Drawn 66 

IX. — Birds  in  the  Bush 74 

X.— Smoothing  the  Way 88 

XI. — A  Picture  and  a  Ring 101 

XII.— A  Night  with  Durdles 1 14 

XIII.— Both  at  their  Best 127 

XIV. — When  shall  these  Three  meet  again 136 

XV. — Impeached t 149 

XVI.— Devoted 157 

XVII. — Philanthropy,  Professional  and  Unprofessional 166 

XVIII. — A  Settler  in  Cloisterham 1S0 

XIX.— Shadow  on  the  Sundial 1S8 

XX.— A  Flight 194 

XXI. — A  Recognition. 204 

XXII. — A  Gritty  State  of  Things  comes  on 209 

XXIII. — The  Dawn  again 225 


CONTENTS. 


MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 

PAGE 

Hunted  Down, 243 

A  Message  from  the  Sea. 

Chap.   I. — The  Village 264 

II.— The  Money 271 

III.— The  Club-night 282 

IV. — The  Seafaring  Man 335 

V.— The  Restitution 365 

Full  Report  of  the  First  Meeting  of  the  Mudfog  Association  for  the 

Advancement  of  Everything , 376 

Full  Report  of  the  Second  Meeting  of  the  Mudfog  Association  for  the 

Advancement  of  Everything 396 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

i.  Mr.  Jasper's  Sacrifices Frontispiece  192 

2.  Under  the  Trees 32 

3.  Mr.  Jasper  accompanies  Miss  Rosebud 62 

4..  Mr.  Crisparkle  is  Overpaid 105 

5.  Mr.  Sapjea  and  Durdles 116 

6.  Good-bye  for  the  Holidays 129 

7.  Grewgious  experiences  a  New  Sensation ,  200 

8.  Up  the  River 219 


THE 


MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


CHAPTER    I. 


The  Dawn. 


N"  ancient  English  Cathedral  Tower  ?  How  can  the 
ancient  English  Cathedral  tower  be  here  !  The  well- 
known  massive  gray  square  tower  of  its  old  Cathe- 
dral ?  How  can  that  be  here  !  There  is  no  spike  of 
rusty  iron  in  the  air,  between  the  eye  and  it,  from  any  point  of 
the  real  prospect.  What  is  the  spike  that  intervenes,  and  who 
lias  set  it  up  ?  Maybe,  it  is  set  up  by  the  Sultan's  orders  for 
the  impaling  of  a  horde  of  Turkish  robbers,  one  by  one.  It  is 
so,  for  cymbals  clash,  and  the  Sultan  goes  by  to  his  palace  in 
long  procession.  Ten  thousand  scimitars  flash  in  the  sunlight, 
and  thrice  ten  thousand  dancing-girls  strew  flowers.  Then 
follow  white  elephants  caparisoned  in  countless  gorgeous  col- 
ours, and  infinite  in  number  and  attendants.  Still,  the  Cathe- 
dral tower  rises  in  the  background,  where  it  cannot  be,  and 
still  no  writhing  figure  is  on  the  grim  spike.  Slay  !  Is  the 
spike  so  low  a  thing  as  the  rusty  spike  on  the  top  of  a  post  of 
an  old  bedstead  that  has  tumbled  all  awry  ?  Some  vague  period 
of  drowsy  laughter  must  be  devoted  to  the  consideration  of  this 
possibility. 

Shaking  from  head  to  foot,  the  man  whose  scattered  con- 
sciousness has  thus  fantastically  pieced  itself  together  at  length 
rises,  supports  his  trembling  frame  upon  his  arms,  and  looks 
1* 


10   ■    '      •     THE  MYSTEKY  OF  EDWIN  DR00D. 

around.  IT s  is.  in.  the  meanest  and  closest  of  small  rooms. 
Ti.i<iu;,'n  di,  faggi  (':  window-curtain,  the  light  of  early  day  steals 
in  from  a  miserable  court.  He  lies,  dressed,  across  a  large  un- 
seemly bed,  upon  a  bedstead  that  has  indeed  given  way  under 
the  weight  upon  it.  Lying,  also  dressed  and  also  across  the 
bed,  not  long-wise,  are  a  Chinaman,  a  Lascar,  and  a  haggard  wo- 
man. The  first  two  are  in  a  sleep  or  stupor  ;  the  last  is  blowing 
at  a  kind  of  pipe-to  kindle  it.  And  as  she  blows,  and,  shading 
it  with  her  lean  hand,  concentrates  its  red  spark  of  light,  it  serves 
in  the  dim  morning  as  a  lamp  to  show  him  what  he  sees  of  her. 

"Another?"  says  this  woman,  in  a  querulous,  rattling  whis- 
per.    "Have  another?" 

(He  looks  about  him,  with  his  hand  to  his  forehead) 

"  Ye've  smoked  as  many  as  five  since  ye  came  in  at  mid- 
night," the  woman  goes  on,  as  she  chronically  complains. 
"  Poor  me,  poor  me,  my  head  is  so  bad  !  Then  two  come  in 
after  ye.  Ah,  poor  me,  the  business  is  slack,  is  slack !  Few 
Chinamen  about  the  Docks,  and  fewer  Lascars,  and  no  ships 
coming  in;  these  say!  Here's  another  ready  for  ye,  deary. 
Ye'll  remember,  like  a  good  soul,  won't  ye,  that  the  market 
price  is  dreffle  high  just  now  ?  More  nor  three  shillings  and 
sixpence  for  a  thimbleful  !  And.  ye'll  remember  that  nobody 
but  me  (ajad— Jack  Chinaman  t'other  side  the  court  ;  but  he 
can't  do  it  as  well  as  me)  has  the  true  secret  of  mixing  it  ?  Ye'll 
pay  up  according,  deary,  won't  ye?" 

She  blows  at  the  pipe  as  she  speaks,  and,  occasionally  bub- 
bling at  it,  inhales  much  of  its  contents. 

"O  me,  O  me,  my  lungs  is  weak,  my  lungs  is  bad!  It's 
nearly  ready  for  ye,  deary.  Ah,  poor  me,  poor  me,  my  poor 
hand  shakes  like  to  drop  off!  I  see  ye  coming-to,  and  I  ses 
to  my  poor  self,  '  I'll  have  another  ready  for  him,  and  he'll 
bear  in  mind  the  market  price  of  opium,  and  pay  according.' 
O  my  poor  head  !  I  makes  my  pipes  of  old  penny  ink-bottles, 
ye  see,  deary — this  is  one — and  I  fits  in  a  mouthpiece,  this 
way,  and  I  takes  my  mixter  out  of  this  thimble  with  (his  little 
horn  spoon  ;  and  so  I  fills,  deary.  Ah,  my  poor  nerves  !  I 
got  Heavens-hard  drunk  for  sixteen  years  afore  I  took  to  this  ; 
but  this  don't  hurt  me,  not  to  speak  of.  And  it  takes  away  the 
hunger  as  well  as  wittles,  deary." 

She  hands  him  the  nearly  emptied  pipe,  and  sinks  back,  turn- 
ing over  on  her  face.. 

He  rises  unsteadily  from  the  bed,  lays  the  pipe  upon  the 
hearthstone,  draws  back  the  ragged  curtain,  and  looks  with 
repugnance  at  his  three  companions.     He  notices  that  the  wo- 


THE  DAWN.  II 

man  has  opium-smoked  herself  into  a  strange  likeness  of  the 
Chinaman.  His  form  of  cheek,  eye,  and  temple,  and  his  col- 
our, are  repeated  in  her.  Said  Chinaman  convulsively  wrestles 
with  one  of  his  many  Gods,  or  Devils,  perhaps,  and  snarls 
horribly.  .  The  Lascar  laughs  and  dribbles  at  the  mouth.  The 
hostess  is  still. 

"What  visions  can  skehswe?"  the  waking  man  muses,  as  he 
turns  her  face  towards  him,  and  stands  looking  down  at  it. 
"  Visions  of  many  butchers'  shops,  and  public-houses,  and  much 
credit  ?  Of  an  increase  of  hideous  customers,  and  this  horrible 
bedstead  set  upright  again,  and  this  horrible  court  swept  clean  ? 
What  can  she  rise  to,  under  any  quantity  of  opium,  higher  than 
that !  —Eh  ?  " 

He  bends  down  his  ear,  to  listen  to  her  mutterings. 

"Unintelligible!" 

As  he  watches  the  spasmodic  shoots  and  darts  that  break 
out  of  her  face  and  limbs,  like  fitful  lightning  out  of  a  dark  sky, 
some  contagion  in  them  seizes  upon  him  :  insomuch  that  he 
has  to  withdraw  himself  to  a  lean  arm-chair  by  the  hearth, — 
placed  there,  perhaps,  for  such  emergencies,— and  to  sit  in  it, 
holding  tight,  until  he  has  got  the  better  of  this  unclean  spirit 
of  imitation. 

Then  he  c&mesJ^ack,  pounces  on  the  Chinaman,  and,  seizing 
him  with  both  hands  by  the  throat,  turns  him  violently  on  the 
bed.  The  Chinaman  clutches  the  aggressive  hands,  resists, 
gasps,  and  protests. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

A  watchful  pause. 

"  Unintelligible  ! " 

Slowly  loosening  his  grasp  as  he  listens  to  the  incoherent 
jargon  with  an  attentive  frown,  he  turns  to  the  Lascar  and 
fairly  drags  him  forth  upon  the  floor.  As  he  falls,  the  Las- 
car starts  into  a  half-risen  attitude,  glares  with  his  eyes,  lashes 
about  him  fiercely  with  his  arms,  and  draws  a  phantom  knife. 
It  then  becomes  apparent  that  the  woman  has  taken  possession 
of  his  knife,  for  safety's  sake;  for,' -she  too  starting  up,  and 
restraining  and  expostulating  with  him,  the  knife  is  visible  in 
her  dress,  not  in  his,  when  they  drowsily  drop  back,  side  by 
side. 

There  has  been  chatte:';ng  and  clattering  enough  between 
them,  but  to  no  purpose.  When  any  distinct  word  has  been 
flung  into  the  air,  it  has  had  no  sense  or  sequence.  Wherefore 
"unintelligible!"  is  again  the  comment  of  the  watcher,  made 
with  some  reassured  nodding  of  his  head,  and  a  gloomy  smile, 


12 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  ED1YLV  DROOD. 


*] 


He  then  lays  certain  silver  money  on  the  table,  finds  his  hat, 
gropes  his  way  down  the  broken  stairs,  gives  a  good  morning 
to  some  rat-ridden  doorkeeper,  in  bed  in  a  black  hutch  beneath 
the  stairs,  and  passes  out. 

That  same  afternoon,  the  massive  gray  square  tower  of  an 
old  Cathedral  rises  before  the  sight  of  a  jaded  traveller.  The 
bells  are  going  for  daily  vesper  service,  and  he  must  needs 
attend  it,  one  would  say,  from  his  haste  to  reach  the  open  Ca- 
thedral door.  Thevchoir  £re>gctting  on  their  sullied  white 
robes,  in  a  hurry,  when  he"Tlxnves  among  them,  gets  on  his  own 
robe,  and  falls  into  the  procession  filing  in  to  service.  Then 
the  Sacristan  locks  the  iron-barred  gates  that  divide  the"  sanc- 
tuary from  the  chancel,  and  all  of  the  procession,  having  scut- 
tled into  their  places,  hide  their  faces ;  and  then  the  intoned 
words,  "  When"Tthe  Wicked  Mi^if— "  rise  among  groins  of 
arches  and  beams  of  roof,  awakening  muttered  thunder. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  Dean,  and  a  Chapter  also. 


^t?v!|HOSOEVER  has  observed  that  sedate  and  clerical 
bird,  the  rook,  may  perhaps  have  noticed  that  when 
he  wings  his  way  homeward  towards  nightfall,  in  a 
a  sedate  and  clerical  company,  two  rooks  will  suddenly 
detach  themselves  from  the  rest,  will  retrace  their  flight  for 
some  distance,  and  will  there  poise  and  linger, — conveying  to 
mere  men  the  fancy  that  it  is  of  some  occult  importance  to  the 
body  politic  that  this  artful  couple  should  pretend  to  have  re- 
nounced connection  with  it. 

Similarly,  service  being  over  in  the  old  Cathedral  with  the 
square  tower,  and  the  choir  scuffling  out  again,  and  divers  ven- 
erable persons  of  rook-like  aspect  dispersing,  two  of  these 
latter  retrace  their  steps,  and  walk  together  in  the  echoing 
Close. 

Not  only  is  the  day  waning,  but  the  year.  The  low  sun  is 
fiery  and  yet  cold  behind  the  monastery  ruin,  and  the  Virginia 
creeper  on  the  Cathedral  wall  has  showered  half  its  deep-red 
leaves  down  on  the  pavement.  There  has  been  rain  this  after- 
noon, and  a  wintry  shudder  goes  among  the  little  pools  on  the 


A   DEAN,    AND  A    CHAPTER  ALSO.  13 

cracked,  uneven  flagstones,  and  through  the  giant  elm-trees  as 
they  shed  a  gust  of  tears.  Their  fallen  leaves  lie  strown 
thickly  about.  Some  of  these  leaves,  in  a  timid  rush,  seek 
sanctuary  within  the  low-arched  Cathedral  door ;  but  two  men, 
coming  out,  resist  them,  .and  cast  them  forth  again  with 
their  feet ;  this  done,  one  of  the  two  locks  the  door  with 
a  goodly  key,  and  the  other  flits  away  with  a  folio  music- 
book. 

"  Mr.  Jasper  was  that,  Tope  ?  " 

"Yes,  Mr.  Dean." 

"  He  has  stayed  late." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Dean.  I  have  stayed  for  hirri,  your  Reverence. 
He  has  been  took  a  little  poorly." 

"  Say  '  taken,'  Tope — to  the  Dean,"  the  younger  rook  inter- 
poses in  a  low  tone  with  this  touch  of  correction,  as  who  should 
say,  "  You  may  offer  bad  grammar  to  the  laity,  or  the  humbler 
clergy,  not  to  the  Dean." 

Mr.  Tope,  Chief  Verger  and  Showman,  and  accustomed 
to  be  high  with  excursion-parties,  declines  with  a  silent 
loftiness  to  perceive  that  any  suggestion  has  been  tendered  to 
him. 

"And  when  and  how  has  Mr.  Jasper  been  taken — for,  as 
Mr.  Crisparkle  has  remarked,  it  is  better  to  say  taken — taken 
—  "  repeats  the  Dean  ;  "  when  and  how  has  Mr.  Jasper  been 
taken—  " 

"  Taken,  sir,"  Tope  deferentially  murmurs. 

"—Poorly,  Tope?" 

"  Why,  sir,  Mr.  Jasper  was  that  breathed — " 

"I  wouldn't  say  'That  breathed,'  Tope,"  Mr.  Crisparkle 
interposes,  with  the  same  touch  as  before.  "  Not  English — to 
the  Dean." 

"  Breathed  to  that  extent,"  the  Dean  (not  unflattered  by 
this  indirect  homage)  condescendingly  remarks,  "  would  be 
preferable." 

"  Mr.  Jasper's  breathing  was  so  remarkably  short,"  thus  dis- 
creetly does  Mr.  Tope  work  his  way  round  the  sunken  rock, 
"  when  he  came  in,  that  it  distressed  him  mightily  to  get  his 
notes  out :  which  was  perhaps  the  cause  of  his  having  a  kind 
of  fit  on  him  after  a  little.  His  memory  grew  Dazed."  Mr. 
Tope,  with  his  eyes  on  the  Reverend  Mr.  Crisparkle,  shoots 
this  word  out,  as  defying  him  to  improve  upon  it :  "  and  a  dim- 
ness and  giddiness  crept  over  him  as  strange  as  ever  I  saw ; 
though  he  didn't  seem  to  mind  it  particularly,  himself.  How- 
ever, a  little  time  and  a  little  water  brought  him  out  of  his 


14  THE   MYSTERY    OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

Daze."  Mr.  Tope  repeats  the  word  and  its  emphasis,  with 
the  air  of  saying,  "As  I  have  made  a  success,  I'll  make  it 
again." 

■'And  Mr.  Jasper  has  gone  home  quite  himself,  has  he?" 
asked  the  Dean. 

"Yotir   Reverence,  he  has  gone  home  quite   himself.     And' 
I'm  glad  to  see  he's  having  his  fire  kindled  up,  for  it's  chilly 
after  the  wet,  and  the  Cathedral  had  both  a  damp  feel  and  a 
damp  touch  this  afternoon,  and  he  was  very  shivery." 

They  all  three  looked  towards  an  old  stone  gatehouse  cross- 
ing the  Close,  with  an  arched  thoroughfare  passing  beneath  it. 
Through  its  latticed  window,  a  fire  shines  out  upon  the  fast- 
darkening  srene,  involving  in  shadow  the  pendent  masses  of 
ivy  and  creeper  covering  the  building's  front.  As  the  deep 
Cathedral  bell  strikes  the  hour,  a  ripple  of  wind  goes  through 
these  at  their  distance,  like  a  ripple  of  the  solemn  sound  that 
hums  through  tomb  and  tower,  broken  niche  and  defaced 
statue,  in  the  pile  close  at  hand. 

"  Is  Mr.  Jasper's  nephew  with  him  ?  "  the  Dean  asks. 

"  No,  sir,"  replies  the  Verger.  "  but  expected.  There's  his 
own  solitary  shadow  betwixt  his  two  windows — the  one  looking 
this  way,  and  the  one  looking  down  into  the  High  Street — 
drawing  his  own  curtains  now." 

"Well,  well,"  says  the  Dean,  with  a  sprightly  air  of  breaking 
up  the  little  conference,  "  I  hope  Mr.  Jasper's  heart  may  not 
be  too  much  set  upon  his  nephew.  Our  affections  however 
laudable,  in  this  transitory  world,  should  never  master  us ;  we 
should  guide  them,  guide  them.  I  find  I  am  not  disagreeably 
reminded  of  my  dinner,  by  hearing  my  dinner-bell.  Perhaps, 
Mr.  Crisparkle,  you  will,  before  going  home,  look  in  on  Jas- 
per?" 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Dean.  And  tell  him  that  you  had  the  kind- 
ness to  desire  to  know  how  he  was  ?  " 

"  Ay,  do  so,  do  so.  Certainly.  Wished  to  know  how  he 
was.      By  all  means.     Wished  to  know  how  he  was." 

With  a  pleasant  air  of  patronage,  the  Dean  as  nearly  cocks 
his  quaint  hat  as  a  Dean  in  good  spirits  may,  and  direct:;  his 
comely  gaiters  towards  the  ruddy  dining-room  of  the  snug  eld 
red-brick  house,  where  lie  i^  at  present  "in  residence"  with 
Mrs.  Dean  and  Miss  Dean. 

Mr.  Crisparkle,  Minor  Canon,  fair  and  rosy,  and  perpetually 
pitching  himself  head-foremost  into  all  the  deep  running  water 
in  the  surrounding  country  ;  Mr.  Crisparkle,  Minor  Canon, 
early    riser,    musical,  classical,    cheerful,    kind,    good-natured, 

/ 


A  DEAN,    AND  A    CHAPTER  ALSO.  15 

social,  contented,  and  boy-like;  Mr.  Crisparkle,  Minor  Canon 
and  good  man,  lately  '-Coach"  upon  die  chief  Pagan  high- 
roads, but  since  promoted  by  a  patron  (grateful  for  a  well-taught 
son)  to  his  present  Christian  beat  ;  betakes  himself  to  the  gate- 
house, on  his  way  home  to  Iris  early  tea. 

"  Sony  to  hear  from  Tope  that  you  have  not  been  well,  Jas- 
per." 

"  O,  it  was  nothing,  nothing!" 

"You  look  a  little  worn." 

"  Do  I  ?  O,  I  don't  think  so.  What  is  better,  I  don't  feel 
so.  Tope  has  made  too  much  of  it,  I  suspect.  It's  his  trade 
to  make  the  most  of  everything  appertaining  to  the  Cathedral, 
you  know." 

"  I  may  tell  the  Dean — I  call  expressly  from  the  Dean — 
that  you  are  all  right  again  ?" 

The  reply,  with  a  slight  smile,  is,  "  Certainly  ;  with  my  re- 
spects and  thanks  to  the  Dean." 
.    "  I'm  glad  to  hear  that  yon  expect  young  Drood." 

"  I  expect  the  dear  fellow  every  moment." 

"  Ah  !     He  will  do  you  more  good  than  a  doctor,  Jasper." 

"  More  good  than  a  dozen  doctors  ;  for  I  love  him  dearly, 
and  I  don't  love  doctors,  or  doctors'  stuff." 

Mr.  Jasper  is  a  dark  man  of  some  gb^and- twenty,  with  thick, 
lustrous,  well-arranged  black  hair  and  whiskers.  He  looks  older 
than  he  is,  as  dark  men  often  do.  His  voice  is  deep  and  good, 
his  face  and  figure  are  good,  his  manner  is  a  little  sombre. 
His  room  is  a  little  sombre,  and  may  have  had  its  influence  in 
forming  his  manner.  It  is  mostly  in  shadow.  Even  when  the 
sun  shine^j3jjdiManXl4^jt_^klom  touches  the  grand  piano  in  the 
recess,  or  the  folio  music-books  on  the  stand,  or  the  bookshelves 
on  the  wall,  or  the  unfinished  picture  of  a  blooming  school-giii 
hanging  ovei  the  chimney-piece  ;  her  flowing  brown  hair  tied 
with  a  blue  riband,  and  her  beauty  remarkable  for  a  quite 
childish,  almost  babyish,  touch  of  saucy  discontent,  comically 
conscious  of  itself.  (There  is  not  the  least  artistic  merit  in  this 
picture,  which  is  a  mere  daub  ;  but  it  is  clear  that  the  painter" 
has  made  it  humourously — one  might  almost  say,  revengefully 
— like  the  original.) 

"  We  shall  miss  you,  Jasper,  at  the  '  Alternate  Musical  Wed- 
nesdays '  to  night ;  but  no  doubt  you  are  best  at  home.  Good 
night.  God  bless  you  !  'Tell  me,  shepherds,  te-e-ell  me  ; 
tell  me-e-e,  have  you  seen  (have  you  seen,  have  you. seen,  have 
you  seen)  my-y-y  Flo-o-ora-a  pass  this  way?'"  Melodiously 
good  Minor  Canon  the  Reverend  Septimus  Crisparkle  thus  de- 


j6  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

livers  himself,  in  musical  rhythm,  as  he  withdraws  his  amiable 
face  from  the  doorway  and  conveys  it  downstairs. 

Sounds  of  greeting  and  recognition  pass  between  the  Rever- 
end Septimus  and  somebody  else,  at  the  stair-foot.  Mr.  Jas- 
per listens,  starts  from  his  chair,  and  catches  a  young  fellow  in 
his  arms,  exclaiming, — 

"  My  dear  Edwin  !  " 

"  My  dear  Jack  !     So  glad  to  see  you  !  " 

"  Get  off  your  great-coat,  bright  boy,  and  sit  down  here  in 
your  own  corner.  Your  feet  are  not  wet  ?  Pull  your  boots 
off.      Do  pull  your  boots  off." 

"  My  dear  Jack,  I  am  as  dry  as  a  bone.  Don't  moddley- 
coddledy,  there's  a  good  fellow.  I  like  anything  better  than 
being  moddley-coddleyed." 

With  the  check  upon  him  of  being  unsympathetically  re- 
strained in  a  genial  outburst  of  enthusiasm,  Mr.  Jasper  stands 
still,  and  looks  on  intently  at  the  young  fellow,  divesting  him- 
self of  his  outer  coat,  hat,  gloves,  and  so  forth.  Once  for  all, 
a  look  of  intentness  and  intensity — a  look  of  hungry,  exacting, 
watchful,  and  yet  devoted  affection — is  always,  now  and  ever 
afterwards,  on  the  Jasper  face  whenever  the  Jasper  face  is  ad- 
dressed in  this  direction.  And  whenever  it  is  so  addressed,  it 
is  never,  on  this  occasion  or  on  any  other,  dividedly  addressed  ; 
it  is  always  concentrated. 

"Now  I  am  right,  and  now  I'll  take  my  comer,  Jack.  Any 
dinner,  Jack  ?  " 

Mr.  Jasper  opens  a  door  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  and 
discloses  a  small  inner  room  pleasantly  lighted  and  prepared, 
wherein  a  comely  dame  is  in  the  act  of  setting  dishes  on  table. 

"  What  a  jolly  old  Jack  it  is  !  "  cries  the  young  fellow,  with  a 
clap  of  his  hands.  "  Look  here,  Jack;  tell  me  whose  birthday 
is  it?" 

"Not  yours,  I  know,"  Mr.  Jasper  answers,  pausing  to  con- 
sider. 

"Not  mine,  you  know?  No;  not  mine,  /  know! 
Pussy's!" 

Fixed  as  the  look  the  young  fellow  meets  is,  there  is  yet  in 
it  some  strange  power  of  suddenly  including  the  sketch  over 
the  chimney-piece. 

"  Pussy's,  Jack  !  We  must  drink  Many  happy  returns  to 
her.  Come,  uncle,  take  your  dutiful  and  sharp-set  nephew  in 
to  dinner." 

As  the  boy  (■or  he  is  little   more)  lays  a  hand   on  Jasper's 


A   DEAN,    AND   A    CHAPTER  ALSO. 


17 


shoulder,  Jasper  cordially  and  gayly  lays  a  hand  on  his  shoul- 
der, and  so  Marseillaise-wise  they  go  in  to  dinner. 

"  And  Lord  !  Here's  Mrs.  Tope  !  "  cries  the  boy.  "  Love- 
lier than  ever !  " 

"  Never  you  mind  me,  Master  Edwin,"  retorts  the  Verger's 
wife  ;  "  I  can  take  care  of  myself." 

"  You  can't.  You're  much  too  handsome.  Give  me  a  kiss, 
because  it's  Pussy's  birthday." 

"  I'd  Pussy  you,  young  mad,  if  I  was  Pussy,  as  you  call  her," 
Mrs.  Tope  blushingly  retorts,  after  being  saluted.  "  Your 
uncle's  too  much  wrapped  up  in  you,  that's  where  it  is.  He 
makes  so  much  of  you  that  it's  my  opinion  you  think  you've 
only  to  call  your  Pussys  by  the  dozen,  to  make  'em  come." 

"  You  forget,  Mrs.  Tope,"  Mr.  Jasper  interposes,  taking  his 
place  at  table  with  a  genial  smile,  "  and  so  do  you,  Ned,  that 
Uncle  and  Nephew  are  words  prohibited  here  by  common  con- 
sent and  express  agreement.  For  what  we  are  going  to  receive 
His  holy  name  be  praised  !  " 

'•  Done  like  the  Dean  !  Witness,  Edwin  Drood  !  Please  to 
carve,  Jack,  for  I  can't." 

This  sally  ushers  in  the  dinner.  Little  to  the  present  pur- 
pose, or  to  any  purpose,  is  said,  while  it  is  in  course  of  being 
disposed  of.  At  length  the  cloth  is  drawn,  and  a  dish  of  walnuts 
and  a  decanter  of  rich-coloured  sherry  are  placed  upon  the 
table. 

"  I  say  !     Tell  me,  Jack,"   the  young  fellow  then  flows  on  ;  . 
"do  you  really  and  truly  feel  as  if  the  mention  of  our  relation- 
ship divided  us  at  all  ?     I  don't." 

"  Uncles  as  a  rule,  Ned,  are  so  much  older  than  their 
nephews,"  is  the  reply,  "  that  I  have  that  feeling  instinctively." 

"  As  a  rule  ?  Ah,  maybe  !  But  what  is  a  difference  in  age 
of  half  a  dozen  years  or  so  ?  And  some  uncles,  in  large  fami- 
lies, are  even  younger  than  their  nephews.  By  George,  I  wish 
it  was  the  case  with  us  !  " 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  if  it  was,  Pd  take  the  lead  with  you,  Jack,  and  be 
as  wise  as  Begone  dull  care  that  turned  a  young  man  gray,  and 
begone  dull  care  that  turned  an  old  man  to  clay.  Hallo,  Jack  ! 
Don't  drink." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"Asks  why  not,  on  Pussy's  birthday,  and  no  Happy  Re- 
turns proposed  !  Pussy,  Jack,  and  many  of  'em  !  Happy 
returns,  I  mean." 

Laying  an  affectionate  and  laughing  touch  on  the  boy's  ex 


!8  THE   MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

tended  hand,  as  if  it  were  at  once  his  giddy  head  and  his  light 
heart,  Mr.  Jasper  drinks  the  toast  in  silence. 

"  Hip,  hip,  hip,  and  nine  times  nine,  and  one  to  finish  with, 
and  ail  that,  understood.  Hooray,  hooray,  hooray  !  .  And 
now,  Jack,  let's  have  a  little  talk  about  Pussy.  Two  pairs  of 
nut-crackers  ?  Pass  me  one,  and  take  the  other."  Crack. 
"  How's  Pussy  getting  on,  Jack  ?  " 

"  With  her  music?     Fairly." 

"  What  a  dreadfully  conscientious  fellow  you  are,  Jack  !  But 
/know,  Lord  bless  you  !     Inattentive,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"She  can  learn  anything,  if  she  will." 

"  7^ she  will  ?     Egad,  that's  it.     But  if  she  won't  ?  " 

Crack.     On  Mr.  Jasper's  part. 

"  How's  she  looking,  Jack  ?" 

Mr.  Jasper's  concentrated  face  again  includes  the  portrait  as 
he  returns,  "Very  like  your  sketch  indeed." 

"I  am  a  little  proud  of  it,"  says  the  young  fellow,  glancing 
up  at  the  sketch  with  complacency,  and  then  shutting  one  eye, 
and  taking  a  corrected  prospect  of  it  over  a  level  bridge  of  nut- 
cracker in  the  air,  "Not  badly  hit  off  from  memory.  But  I 
ought  to  have  caught  that  expression  pretty  well,  for  I  have 
seen  it  often  enough." 

Crack.     On  Edwin  Drood's  part. 

Crack.     On  Mr.  Jasper's  part. 

"  In  point  of  fact,"  the  former  resumes,  a-fter  some  silent 
dipping  among  his  fragments  of  walnut  with  an  air  of  pique, 
"  I  see  it  whenever  I  go  to  see  Pussy.  If  I  don't  find  it  on  her 
face,  I  leave  it  there — You  know  I  do,  Miss  Scornful  Pert. 
Booh  ! "     With  a  twirl  of  the  nutcrackers  at  the  portrait. 

Crack.     Crack.     Crack.     Slowly  on  Mr.  Jasper's  part. 

Crack.     Sharply  on  the  part  of  Edwin  Drood. 

Silence  on  both  sides. 

"  Have  you  lost  your  tongue,  Jack  ?  " 

"  Have  you  found  yours,  Ned  ?  " 

"No,  but  really  ;  isn't  it,  you  know,  after  all?  " 

Mr.  Jasper  lifts  his  dark  eyebrows  inquiringly. 

"  Isn't  it  unsatisfactory  to  be  cut  off  from  choice  in  such  a 
matter?  There,  Jack  !  I  tell  you  !  If  I  could  choose,  I  would 
choose  Pussy  from  all  the  pretty  girls  in  the  world." 

"  But  you  have  not  got  to  choose." 

"That's  what  I  complain  of.  My  dead-and-gone  father,  and 
Pussy's  dead-and-gone  father  must  needs  marry  us  together  by 
anticipation.     Why  the — Devil,   I  was  going  to  say,  if  it  had 


A   DEAN,    AND   A    CHAPTER  ALSO. 


been  respectful  to  their  memory — couldn't  they  leave  us 
alone  ?  " 

"Tut,  tut,  dear  boy,"  Mr.  Jasper  remonstrates,  in  a  tone  of 
gentle  depreciation. 

"Tut,  tut?  Yes,  Jack,  it's  all  very  well  for  you.  You  can 
take  it  easily.  Your  life  is  not  laid  down  to  scale,  and  lined 
and  dotted  out  for  you,  like  a  surveyor's  plan.  You  have  no 
uncomfortable  suspicion  that  you  are  forced  upon  anybody, 
nor  has  anybody  an  uncomfortable  suspicion  that  she  is  forced 
upon  you,  or  that  you  are  forced  upon  her.  You  can  choose 
for  yourself.  Life,  for  you,  is  a  plum  with  the  natural  bloom 
on  ;  it  hasn't  been  over-carefully  wiped  off  for  you — " 

"  Don't  stop,  dear  fellow.     Go  on." 

"  Can  I  anyhow  have  hurt  your  feelings,  Jack  ?  " 

"  How  can  you  have  hurt  my  feelings  ?  " 

"  Good  Heaven,  Jack,  you  look  frightfully  ill  !  There's  a 
strange  film  come  over  your  eyes." 

Mr.  Jasper,  with  'a  forced  smile,  stretches  out  his  right  hand, 
as  if  at  once  to  disarm  apprehension  and  gain  time  to  get 
better.     After  a  while  he  says  faintly, — 

"  I  have  been  taking  opium  for  a  pain — an  agony — that 
sometimes  overcomes  me.  The  effects  of  the  medicine  steal 
over  me  like  a  blight  or  a  cloud,  and  pass.  You  see  them  in 
the  act  of  passing  ;  they  will  be  gone  directly.  Look  away 
from  me,  they  will  go  all  the  sooner." 

With  a  scared  face  the  younger  man  complies,  by  casting  his 
eyes  downward  at  the  ashes  on  the  hearth.  Not  relaxing  his 
own  gaze  at  the  fire,  but  rather  strengthening  it  with  a  fierce, 
firm  grip  upon  his  elbow-chair,  the  elder  sits  for  a  few  moments 
rigid,  and  then,  with  thick  drops  standing  on  his  forehead,  and 
a  sharp  catch  of  his  breath,  becomes  as  he  was  before.  On 
his  so  subsiding  in  his  chair,  his  nephew  gently  and  assiduously 
tends  him  while  he  quite  recovers.  When  Jasper  is  restored, 
he  lays  a  tender  hand  upon  his  nephew's  shoulder,  and,  in  a 
tone  of  voice  less  troubled  than  the  purport  of  his  words — in- 
deed, with  something  of  raillery  or  banter  in  it — thus  addresses 
him  : — 

''  There  is  said  to  be  a  hidden  skeleton  in  every  house  ;  but 
you  thought  there  was  none  in  mine,  dear  Ned." 

"Upon  my  life,  Jack,  I  did  think  so.  However,  when  I 
come  to  consider  that  even  in  Pussy's  house — if  she  had  one 
— and  in  mine — if  1  had  one — " 

"  You  were  going  to  say  (but  that  I  interrupted  you  in  spite 
of  myself)  what  a  quiet  life  mine  is.     No   whirl  and  uproar 


20  THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DR00D. 

around  me,  no  distracting  commerce  or  calculation,  no  risk,  no 
change  of  place,  myself  devoted  to  the  art  I  pursue,  my  bus- 
iness my  pleasure." 

"  I  really  was  going  to  say  something  of  the  kind,  Jack  ;  but 
you  see,  you,  speaking  of  yourself,  almost  necessaiily  leave  out 
much  that  I  should  have  put  in.  For  instance  :  I  should  have 
put  in  the  foreground  your  being  so  much  respected  as  Lay 
.Precentor,  or  Lay  Clerk,  or  whatever  you  call  it,  of  this  Ca- 
thedral ;  your  enjoying  the  reputation  of  having  done  such 
wonders  with  the  choir;  your  choosing  your  society,  and  hold- 
ing such  an  independent  position  in  this  queer  old  place  ;  your 
gift  of  teaching  (why,  even  Pussy  who  don't  like  being  taught, 
says  there  never  was  such  a  Master  as  you  are  !)  and  your  con- 
nection." 

"  Yes  ;  I  saw  what  you  were  tending  to.     I  hate  it." 

"  Hate  it,  Jack  ?  "     (Much  bewildered.) 

"  I  hate  it.  The  cramped  monotony  of  my  existence  grinds 
me  away  by  the  grain.     How  does  our  service  sound  to  you  ?  " 

"  Beautiful  !     Quite  celestial." 

"  It  often  sounds  to  me  quite  devilish.  I  am  so  weary  of  it. 
The  echoes  of  my  own  voice  among  the  arches  seem  to  mock 
me  with  my  daily  drudging  round.  No  wretched  monk  who 
droned  his  life  away  in  that  gloomy  place  before  me,  can  have 
been  more  tired  of  it  than  I  am.  He  could  take  for  relief  (and 
did  take)  to  carving  demons  out  of  the  stalls  and  seats  and 
desks.  What  shall  I  do  ?  Must  I  take  to  carving  them  out  of 
my  heart  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  had  so  exactly  found  your  niche  in  life, 
Jack,"  Edwin  Drood  returns,  astonished,  bending  forward  in 
his  chair  to  lay  a  sympathetic  hand  on  Jasper's  knee,  and  look- 
ing at  him  with  an  anxious  face. 

"  I  know  you  thought  so.     They  all  think  so." 

"  Well  ;  I  suppose  they  do,"  says  Edwin,  meditating  aloud. 
"  Pussy  thinks  so." 

"  When  did  she  tell  you  that?  " 

"The  last  time  I  was  here.  You  remember  when.  Three 
months  ago." 

"  How  did  she  phrase  it?" 

"  Oh  !  She  only  said  that  she  had  become  your  pupil,  and 
that  you  were  made  for  your  vocation." 

The  younger  man' glances  at  the  portrait.  The  elder  sees  it 
in  him. 

"  Anyhow,  my  dear  Ned,"  Jasper  resumes,  as  he  shakes  his 
head  with  a  erave  cheerfulness,  "  I  must  subdue  myself  to  my 


A   DEAN,   AND   A    CHAPTER  ALSO.  2 1 

vocation,  which  is  much  the  same  thing  outwardly.  It's  too  late 
to  find  another  now.     This  is  a  confidence  between  us." 

"  It  shall  be  sacredly  preserved,  Jack." 

"  I  have  reposed  it  in  you,  because — " 

"I  feel  it,  I  assure  you.  Because  we  are  fast  friends,  and 
because  you  love  and  trust  me,  as  I  love  and  trust  you.  Both 
hands,  Jack." 

As  each  stands  looking  into  the  other's  eyes,  and  as  the  un- 
cle holds  the  nephew's  hands,  the  uncle  thus  proceeds  : 

"You  know  now,  don't  you,  that  even  a  poor  monotonous 
chorister  and  grinder  of  music,  in  his  niche,  may  be  troubled 
with  some  stray  sort  of  ambition,  aspiration,  restlessness,  dis- 
satisfaction, what  shall  we  call  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear  Jack." 

"  And  you  will  remember  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Jack,  I  only  ask  you,  am  I  likely  to  forget  what 
you  have  said  with  so  much  feeling  ?  " 

"  Taj^gjiLas^a.^yarning,  .tJirn."— 

In  the  act  of  having  his  hands  released,  and  of  moving  a  step 
back,  Edwin  pauses  for  an  instant  to  consider  the  application 
of  these  last  words.  The  instant  over,  he  says,  sensibly 
touched, — 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  but  a  shallow,  surface  kind  of  fellow, 
Jack,  and  that  my  head-piece  is  none  of  the  best.  But  I  needn't 
say  I  am  young ;  and  perhaps  I  shall  not  grow  worse  as  I  grow 
older.  At  all  events,  I  hope  I  have  something  impressible 
within  me,  which  feels — deeply  feels — the  disinterestedness  of 
your  painfully  laying  your  inner  self  bare,  as  a  warning  to 
me." 

Mr.  Jasper's  steadiness  of  face  and  figure  becomes  so  marvel- 
lous that  his  breathing  seems  to  have  stopped. 

"  I  couldn't  fail  to  notice,  Jack,  that  it  cost  you  a  great  effort, 
and  that  you  were  very  much  moved,  and  very  unlike  your 
usual  self.  Of  course  I  knew  that  you  were  extremely  fond  of 
me,  but  I  really  was  not  prepared  for  your,  as  I  may  say,  sacri- 
ficing yourself  to  me,  in  that  way." 

Mr.  Jasper,  becoming  a  breathing  man  again,  without  the 
smallest  stage  of  transition  between  the  two  extreme  states, 
lifts  his  shoulders,  laughs,  and  waves  his  right  arm. 

"No;  don't  put  the  sentiment  away,  Jack;  please  don't; 
for  I  am  very  much  in  earnest.  I  have  no  doubt  that  that  un- 
healthy state  of  mind_which  you  have  so  powerfully  described 
is  attended  with  some  real  suffering,  and  is  hard  to  bear.  But 
let  me  reassure  you,  Jack,  as  to  the  chances  of  its  overcoming 


22  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

Me.  I  don't  think  I  am  in  the  way  of  it.  In  some  few  months 
less  than  another  year,  you  know,  I  shall  carry  Pussy  off  from 
school  as  iM  is.  Edwin  Drood.  I  shall  then  go  engineering  into 
the  East,  and  Pussy  with  me.  And  although  we  have  our  lit- 
tle tiffs  now,  arising  out  of  a  certain  unavoidable  flatness  that 
attends  our  love-making,  owing  to  its  end  being  all  settled  be- 
forehand, still  I  have  no  doubt  of  our  getting  on  capitally  then, 
when  it's  done  and  can't  be  helped.  In  short.  Jack,  to  go 
back  to  the  old  song  I  was  freely  quoting  at  dinner  (and  who 
knows  old  songs  better  than  you  ?),  my  wife  shall  dance  and  I 
will  sing,  so  merrily  pass  the  day.  Of  Pussy's  being  beautiful 
there  cannot  be  a  doubt ; — and  when  you  are  good  besides, 
Little  Miss  Impudence,"  once  more  apostrophizing  the  por- 
trait, "  I'll  burn  your  comic  likeness  and  paint  your  music- 
master  another." 

Mr.  Jasper,  with  his  hand  to  his  chin,  and  with  an  expression 
of  musing  benevolence  on  his  face,  has  attentively  watched 
every  animated  look  and  gesture  attending  the  delivery  of  these 
words.  He  remains  in  that  attitude  after  they  are  spoken,  as  if 
in  a  kind  of  fascination  attendant  on  his  strong  interest  in  the 
youthful  spirit  that  he  loves  so  well.  Then,  he  says  with  a 
quiet  smile, — 

"You  won't  be  warned,  then  ?" 

"  No,  Jack." 

"You  can't  be  warned,  then  ?" 

"No,  Jack,  not  by  you.  Besides,  that  I  don't  really  con- 
sider myself  in  danger,  I  don't  like  your  putting  yourself  in 
that  position." 

"  Shall  we  go  and  walk  in  the  churchyard?" 

"  By  all  means.  You  won't  mind  my  slipping  out  of  it  for 
half  a  moment  to  the  Nuns'  House,  and  leaving  a  parcel  there? 
Only  gloves  for  Pussy  ;  as  many  pairs  of  gloves  as  she  is  years 
old  today.     Rather  poetical,  Jack  ?" 

Mr.  Jasper,  still  in  the  same  attitude,  murmurs,  "  '  Nothing 
half  so  sweet  in  life,'  Ned  !  " 

"  Here's  the  parcel  in  my  great-coat  pocket.  They  must  be 
presented  to-night,  or  the  poetry  is  gone.  It's  against  regula- 
tions for  me  to  call  at  night,  but  not  to  leave  a  packet.  I  am 
ready,  Jack ! " 

Mr.  Jasper  dissolves  his  attitude,  and  they  go  out  together. 


THE  NUNS'    HOUSE.  2j 

CHAPTER   I'll. 

The  Nuns'  House. 

OR  sufficient  reasons,  which  this  narrative  will  itself  un- 
fold as  it  advances,  a  fictitious  name  must  be  bestowed 
upon  the  old  Cathedral  town.  Let  it  stand  in  these 
pages  as  Cloisterham.  It  was  once  possibly  known  to 
the  Druids  by  another  name,  and  certainly  to  the  Romans  by 
another,  and  to  the  Saxons  by  another,  and  to  the  Normans  by 
another  ;  and  a  name  more  or  less  in  the  course  of  many  cen- 
turies can  be  of  little  moment  to  its  dusty  chronicles. 

An  ancient  city  Cloisterham,  and  no  meet  dwelling-place  for 
anyone  with  hankerings  after  the  noisy  world.  A  monotonous, 
silent  city,  deriving  an  earthy  flavor  throughout,  from  its  Cathe- 
dral crypt,  and  so  abounding  in  vestiges  of  monastic  graves, 
that  the  Cloisterham  children  grow  small  salad  in  the  dust  of 
abbots  and  abbesses,  and  make  dirt-pies  of  nuns  and  friars  ; 
while  every  ploughman  in  its  outlying  fields  renders  to  once 
puissant  Lord  Treasurers,  Archbishops,  Bishops,  and  such-like, 
the  attention  which  the  Ogre  in  the  story-book  desired  to  ren- 
du]' to  his  unbidden  visitor,  and  grinds  their  bones  to  make  his 
bread. 

A  drowsy  city  Cloisterham,  whose  inhabitants  seem  to  sup- 
pose, with  an  inconsistency  more  strange  than  rare,  that  all  its 
changes  lie  behind  it,  and  that  there  are  no  more  to  come.  A 
queer  moral  to  derive  from  antiquity,  yet  older  than  an)  trace- 
able antiquity.  So  silent  are  the  streets  of  Cloisterham  (though 
prone  to  echo  on  the  smallest  provocation),  that  of  a  summer- 
day  the  sunblinds  of  its  shops  scarce  dare  to  flap  in  the  south 
wind  ;  while  the  sun-browned  tramps  who  pass  along  and  stare, 
quicken  their  limp  a  little,  that  they  may  the  sooner  get  beyond 
the  confines  of  its  oppressive  respectability.  This  is  a  feat  not 
difficult  of  achievement,  seeing  that  the  streets  of  Cloisterham 
city  are  little  more  than  one  narrow  street  by  which  you  get  in- 
to it  and  get  out  of  it :  the  rest  being  mostly  disappointing  yards 
with  pumps  in  them  and  no  thoroughfare, — exception  made  of 
the  Cathedral  close  and  a  paved  quaker  settlement,  in  color  and 
general  conformation  very  like  a  Quakeress's  bonnet,  up  in  a 
shady  corner. 

In  a  word,  a  city  of  another  and  a  bygone  time  is  Cloisterham, 
with  its  hoarse  Cathedral  bell,  its  hoarse  rooks  hovering  about 


f4  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

the  Cathedral  tower,  its  hoarser  and  less  distinct  rooks  in  the 
stalls  far  beneath.  Fragments  of  old  wall,  saint's  chapel, 
chapter-house,  convent,  and  monastery  have  got  incongruously 
or  obstructively  built  into  many  of  its  houses  and  gardens,  much 
as  kindred  jumbled  notions  have  become  incorporated  into 
many  of  its  citizens'  minds.  All  things  in  it  are  of  the  past. 
Even  its  single  pawnbroker  takes  in  no  pledges,  nor  lias  ne  tor 
a  long  time,  but  offers  vainly  an  unredeemed  stock  for  sale,  of 
which  the  costlier  articles  are  dim  and  pale  old  watches  appar- 
ently in  a  low  perspiration,  tarnished  sugar-tongs  with  ineffect- 
ual legs,  and  odd  volumes  of  dismal  books.  The  most  abun- 
dant and  the  most  agreeable  evidences  of  progressing  life  in 
Cloisterham  are  the  evidences  of  vegetable  life  in  its  many  gar- 
dens ;  even  its  drooping_.and  despondent  little  theatre  has  its 
poor  strip  of  garden, (receiving  the  foul  fiend,  when  he  ducks 
from  its  stage  into  the  infernal  regions,  among  scarlet  beans  or 
oyster-shells,  according  to  the  season  of  the  year. 

In  the  midst  of  Cloisterham  stands  the  Nuns'  House;  a  ven- 
erable brick  edifice  whose  present  appellation  is  doubtless  de- 
rived from  the  legend  of  its  conventual  uses.  On  the  trim  gate 
enclosing  its  old  court-yard  is  a  resplendent  brass  plate,  flashing 
forth  the  legend  :  "  Seminary  for  Young  Ladies.  Miss  Twin- 
kleton."  The  house-front  is  so  old  and  worn,  and  the  brass 
plate  is  so  shining  and  staring,  that  the  general  result  has  re- 
minded imaginative  strangers  of  a  battered  old  beau  with  a  large 
modern  eye-glass  stuck  in  his  blind,  eye. 

'Whether  the  nuns  of  yore,  being  of  a  submissive  rather  than 
a  stiff-necked  generation,  habitually  bent  their  contemplative 
heads  to  avoid  collision  with  the  beams  in  the  low  ceilings  of 
the  many  chambers  of  their  House  ;  whether  they  sat  in  its  long 
low  windows,  telling  their  beads  for  their  mortification  instead 
of  making  necklaces  of  them  for  their  adornment ;  whether  they 
were  ever  walled  up  alive  in  odd  angles  and  jutting  gables  of 
the  building  for  having  some  ineradicable  leaven  of  busy  mother 
Nature  in  them  which  has  kept  the  fermenting  world  alive  ever 
tince  ; — these  may  be  matters  of  interest  to  its  haunting  ghosts 
(if  an)  ),  but  constitute  no  item  in  Miss  Twinkleton's  half  yearly 
accounts.  They  are  neither  of  Miss  Twinkleton's  inclusive 
regulars,  nor  of  her  extras.  The  lady  who  undertakes  the  poet- 
ical department  of  the  establishment  at  so  much  (or  so  little)  a 
quarter,  has  no  pieces  in  her  list  of  recitals  bearing  on  such  un- 
profitable questions. 

As,  in  some  cases  of  drunkenness,  and  in  others  of  animal 
magnetism,  there  are  two  states  of  consciousness  which  never 


THE   NUNS'   HOUSE. 


2$ 


clash,  but  each  of  which  pursues  its  separate  course  as  though 
it  were  continuous  instead  of  broken  (thus  if  I  hide  my  watch 
when  I  am  drunk,  I  must  be  drunk  again  before  I  can  remem- 
ber where),  so  Miss  Twinkleton  has  two  distinct  and  separate 
phases  of  being.  Every  night,  the  moment  the  young  ladies 
have  retired  to  rest,  does  Miss  Twinkleton  smarten  up  her  curls 
a  little,  brighten  up  her  eyes  a  little,  and  become  a  sprightlier 
Miss  Twinkleton  than  the  young  have  ever  .seen.  Every  night, 
at  the  same  hour,  does  Miss  Twinkleton  resumeTthe  topics  of 
the  previous  night,  comprehending  thefenderer  scandal  of 
Cloisterham,  of  which  she  has  no  knowledge  whatever  by  day, 
and  References  to  a  certain  season  at  Tunbridge  Wells  (airily 
called  by  Miss  Twinkleton  in  this  state  of  her  existence  "The 
Wells  "),  notably  the  season  wherein  a  certain  finished  gentle- 
man (compassionately  called  by  Miss  Twinkleton  in  this  state, 
of  her  existence,  "  Foolish  Mr.  Porters")  revealed  a  homage  of 
the  heart,  whereof  Miss  Twinkleton,  in  her  scholastic  state  of 
existence,  is  as  ignorant  as  a  granite  pillar.  Miss  Twinkleton's 
companion  in  both  states  of  existence,  and  equally  adaptable 
to  either,  is  one  Mrs.  Tisher,  a  deferential  widow,  with  a  weak 
back,  a  chronic  sigh,  and  a  suppressed  voice,  who  looks  after 
the  young  ladies'  wardrobes,  and  leads  them  to  infer  that  she 
has  seen  better  days.  Perhaps  this  is  the  reason  why  it  is  an 
article  of  faith  with  the  servants,  handed  down  from  race  to  race, 
that  the  departed  Tisher  was  a  hairdresser. 

The  pet  pupil  of  the  Nuns'  House  is  Miss  Rosa  Bud,  of 
course  called  Rosebud  ;  wonderfully  pretty,  wonderfully  childish, 
wonderfully  whimsical.  An  awkward  interest  (awkward  be- 
cause romantic)  attaches  to  Miss  Bud  in  the  minds  of  the  young 
ladies,  on  account  of  its  being  known  to  them  that  a  husband 
has  been  chosen  for  her  by  will  and  bequest,  and  that  her  guar- 
dian is  bound  down  to  bestow  her  on  that  husband  when  he 
comes  of  age.  Miss  Twinkleton,  in  her  seminarial  state  of  ex- 
istence, has  combated  the  romantic  aspect  of  this  destiny  by 
affecting  to  shake  her  head  over  it  behind  Miss  Bud's  dimpled 
shoulders,  and  to  brood  on  the  unhappy  lot  of  that  doomed 
little  victim.  But  with  no  better  effect — possibly  some  unfelt 
touch  of  foolish  Mr.  Porters  has  undermined  the  endeavour — 
than  to  evoke  from  the  young  ladies  a  unanimous  bedchamber 
cry  of,  "  Oh !  what  a  pretending  old  thing  Miss  Twinkleton  is, 
my  dear  !  " 

The  Nuns'  House  is  never  in  such  a  state  of  flutter  as  when 
this  allotted  husband  calls  to  see  little  Rosebud.     (It  is  unani- 
mously understood  by  the  young  ladies  that  he  is  lawfully  en- 
2 


26  THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

titled  to  this  privilege,  and  that  if  Miss  Twinkleton  disputed  it 
she  would  be  instantly  taken  up  and  transported.)  When  his 
ring  at  the  gate  bell  is  expected,  or  takes  place,  every  young 
lady  who  can,  under  any  pretence,  look  out  of  window,  looks 
out  of  window;  while  every  young  lady  who  is  "practising" 
practises  out  of  time  ;  and  the  French  class  becomes  so  demor- 
alized that  the  Mark  goes  round  as  briskly  as  the  bottie  at  a 
convivial  party  in  the  last  century. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  next  after  the  dinner  of  two  at 
the  Gate  House,  the  bell  is  rung  with  the  usual  fluttering  re- 
sults. 

"  Mr.  Edwin  Drood  to  see  Miss  Rosa." 

This  is  the  announcement  of  the  parlor-maid  in  chief.  Miss 
Twinkleton,  with  an  exemplary  air  of  melancholy  on  her,  turns 
to  the  sacrifice,  and  says,  '•  YTou  may  go  down,  my  dear."  Miss 
Bud  goes  down,  followed  by  all  eyes. 

Mr.  Edwin  Drood  is  waiting  in  Miss  Twinkleton's  own  par- 
lor,— a  dainty  room,  with  nothing  more  directly  scholastic  in  it 
than  a  terrestrial  and  a  celestial  globe.  These  expressive 
machines  imply  (to  parents  and  guardians)  that  even  when 
Miss  Twinkleton  retires  into  the  bosom  of  privacy,  duty  may 
at  any  moment  compel  her  to  become  a  sort  of  Wandering 
Jewess,  scouring  the  earth  and  soaring  through  the  skies  in 
search  of  knowledge  for  her  pupils. 

The  last  new  maid,  who  has  never  seen  the  young  gentleman 
Miss  Rosa  is  engaged  to,  and  who  is  making  his  acquaintance 
between  the  hinges  of  the  open  door,  left  open  for  the  purpose, 
stumbles  guiltily  down  the  kitchen  stairs,  as  a  charming  little 
apparition,  with  its  face  concealed  by  a  little  silk  apron  thrown 
over  its  head,  glides  into  the  parlor. 

"Oh!  It  is  so  ridiculous!"  says  the  apparition,  stopping 
and  shrinking.      "  Don't,  Eddy  !" 

"  Don't  what,  Rosa?  " 

"Don't  come  any  nearer,  please.     It  is  so  absurd." 

"What  is  absurd,  Rosa?" 

"The  whole  thing  is.  It  is  so  absurd  to  be  an  engaged 
orphan  ;  and  it  is  so  absurd  to  have-the  girls  and  the  servants 
scuttling  about  after  one,  like  mice  in  the  wainscot ;  and  it  is 
so  absurd  to  be  called  upon  !  " 

The  apparition  appears  to  have  a  thumb  in  the  corner  of  its 
mouth  while  making  this  complaint. 

"You  give  me  an  affectionate  reception,  Pussy,  I  must  say." 

"Well,  I  will  in  a  minute,  Eddy,  but  I  can't  just  yet.  How 
are  you  ?"  (very  shortly.) 


THE  NUNS'   HOUSE. 


27 


"  I  am  unable  to  reply  that  I  am  much  the  better  for  seeing 
you,  Pussy,  inasmuch  as  I  see  nothing  of  you." 

This  second  remonstrance  brings  a  dark,  bright,  pouting 
eye  out  from  a  corner  of  the  apron  ;  but  it  swiftly  becomes 
invisible  again,  as  the  apparition  exclaims,  "  Oh  !  Good 
Gracious,  you  have  had  half  your  hair  cut  off!" 

"I  should  have  done  better  to  have  had  my  head  cut  off,  I 
think,"  says  Edwin,  rumpling  the  hair  in  question,  with  a  fierce 
glance  at  the  looking-glass,  and  giving  an  impatient  stamp. 
'••Shall  I  go?" 

"No,  you  needn't  go  just  yet,  Eddy.  The  girls  would  all  be 
asking  questions  why  you  went." 

"  Once  for  all,  Rosa,  will  you  uncover  that  ridiculous  little 
head  of  yours  and  give  me  a  welcome?" 

The  apron  is  pulled  off  the  childish  head,  as  its  wearer  re- 
plies, "You're  very  welcome,  Eddy.  There  !  I'm  sure  that's 
nice.  Shake  hands.  No,  I  can't  kiss  you,  because  I've  got 
an  acidulated  drop  in  my  mouth." 

"  Are  you  at  all  glad  to  see  me,  Pussy  ?  " 

"O  yes,  I'm  dreadfully  glad. — Go  and  sit  down. — Miss 
Twinkleton." 

It  is  the  custom  of  that  excellent  lady,  when  these  visits 
occur,  to  appear  every  three  minutes,  either  in  her  own  person 
or  in  that  of  Mrs.  Tisher,  and  lay  an  offering  on  the  shrine 
of  Propriety  by  affecting  to  look  for  some  desiderated  article. 
On  the  present  occasion,  Miss  Twinkleton,  gracefully  gliding 
in  and  out,  says,  in  passing,  "  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Drood  ? 
Very  glad  indeed  to  have  the  pleasure.  Pray  excuse  me. 
Tweezers.      Thank  you  !  " 

"  I  got  the  gloves  last  evening,  Eddy,  and  I  like  them  very 
much.     They  are  beauties." 

"Well,  that's  something,"  the  affianced  replies,  half  grumb- 
ling. "  The  smallest  encouragement  thankfully  received. 
And  how  did  you  pass  your  birthday,  Pussy  ?  " 

"  Delightfully  !  Everybody  gave  me  a  present.  And  we 
had  a  feast.     And  we  had  a  ball  at  night." 

"A  feast  and  a  ball,  eh  ?  These  occasions  seem  to  go  off 
tolerably  well  without  me,  Pussy." 

"  De-lightfully  !"  cries  Rosa,  in  a  quite  spontaneous  manner, 
and  without  the  least  pretence  of  reserve. 

"  Hah  !     And  what  was  the  feast  ?  " 

"  Tarts,  oranges,  jellies,  and  shrimps." 

"  Any  partners  at  die  ball  !  " 


28  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  BROOD. 

"  We  danced  with  one  another,  of  course,  sir.  But  some  of 
the  gii'ls  made  game  to  be  their  brothers.     It  was  so  droll  '  " 

"  Did  anybody  make  game  to  be — " 

"  To  be  you  ?  O  dear,  yes  !  "  cries  Rosa,  laughing  with 
great  enjoyment.      ''That  was  the  first  thing  done." 

"  I  hope  she  did  it  pretty  well,"  says  Edwin,  rather  doubtfully. 

"Oh!  It  was  excellent! — I  wouldn't  dance  with  you,  you 
know." 

Edwin  scarcely  seems  to  see  the  force  of  this ;  begs  to  know 
if  he  may  take  the  liberty  to  ask  why? 

"  Because  J  was  so  tired  of  you,"  returns  Rosa.  But  she 
quickly  adds,  and  pleadingly,  too,  seeing  displeasure  in  his 
face  :    "  Dear  Eddy,  you  were  just  as  tired  of  me,  you  know." 

"  Did  I  say  so,  Rosa  ?  " 

"  Say  so  ?  Do  you  ever  say  so  ?  No,  you  only  showed  it. 
O,  she  did  it  so  well?"  cries  Rosa,  in  a  sudden  ecstasy  with 
her  counterfeit  betrothed. 

"  It  strikes  me  that  she  must  be  a  devilish  impudent  girl," 
says  Edwin  Drood.  "And  so,  Pussy,  you  have  passed  your 
last  birthday  in  this  old  house." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  "  Rosa  clasps  her  hands,  looks  down  with  a  sigh, 
and  shakes  her  head. 

"  You  seem  to  be  sorry,  Rosa." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  the  poor  old  place.  Somehow,  I  feel  as  if 
it  would  miss  me,  when  I  am  gone  so  far  away,  so  young." 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  stop  short,  Rosa?" 

She  looks  up  at  him  with  a  swift,  bright  look;  next  moment 
shakes  her  head,  sighs,  and  looks  down  again. 

"That  is  to  say,  is  it,  Pussy,  that  we  are  both  resigned?" 

She  nods  her  head  again,  and  after  a  short  silence,  quaintly 
bursts  out  with,  "  You  know  we  must  be  married,  and  married 
from  here,  Eddy,  or  the  poor  girls  will  be  so  dreadfully  disap- 
pointed ! " 

For  the  moment  there  is  more  of  compassion,  both  for  her 
and  for  himself,  in  her  affianced  husband's  face,  than  there  is 
of  love.  He  checks  the  look,  and  asks,  "  Shall  I  take  you  out 
for  a  walk,  Rosa  dear  ?  " 

Rosa  dear  does  not  seem  at  all  clear  on  this  point,  until  her 
face,  which  has  been  comically  reflective,  brightens.  -"  O  yes, 
Eddy  ;  let  us  go  for  a  walk!  And  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do. 
You  shall  pretend  that  you  are  engaged  to  somebody  else,  and 
111  pretend  that  I  am  not  engaged  to  anybody;  and  then  we 
shan't  quarrel." 

"  Do  you  think  that  will  prevent  our  falling  out,  Rosa?" 


THE  NUNS"   HOUSE. 


29 


"I  know  it  will.  Hush  !  Pretend  to  look  out  of  window — 
Mrs.  Tisher !  " 

Through  a  fortuitous  concourse  of  accidents  the  matronly 
Tisher  heaves  in  sight,  says,  in  rustling  through  the  room  like 
the  legendary  ghost  of  a  dowager  in  silken  skirts,  "  I  hope  I 
see  Mr.  Urood  well  ;  though  I  needn't  ask,  if  I  may  judge 
from  his  complexion  ?  I  trust  I  disturb  no  one  ;  but  there 
was  a  paper-knife — O,  thank  you,  I  am  sure  ! "  and  disappears 
with  her  prize. 

"  One  other  thing  you  must  do,  Eddy,  to  oblige  me,"  says 
Rosebud.  "  The  moment  we  get  into  the  street,  you  must  put 
me  outside  and  keep  close  to  the  house  yourself, — squeeze 
and  graze  yourself  against  it." 

"By  all  means,  Rosa,  if  you  wish  it.     Might  I  ask  why  !" 

"  Oh  !    because  I  don't  want  the  girls  to  see  you." 

"  It's  a  fine  day  ;  but  would  you  like  me  to  carry  an  umbrella 
up  ?" 

"Don't  be  foolish,  sir.  You  haven't  got  polished  leather 
boots  on,"  pouting,  with  one  shoulder  raised. 

"  Perhaps  that  might  escape  the  notice  of  the  girls,  even  if 
they  did  see  me,"  remarks  Edwin,  looking  down  at  his  boots 
with  a  sudden  distaste  for  them. 

"  Nothing  escapes  their  notice,  sir.  And  then  I  know  what 
would  happen.  Some  of  them  would  begin  reflecting  on  me  by 
saying  (for  they  are  free)  that  they  never  will  on  any  account 
engage  themselves  to  lovers  without  polished  leather  boots. 
Hark  !     Miss  Tvvinkleton.      I'll  ask  for  leave." 

That  discreet  lady  being  indeed  heard  without,  inquiring  of 
nobody  in  a  blandly  conversational  tone  as  she  advances,  "  Eh  ? 
Indeed !  Are  you  quite  sure  you  saw  my  mother-of-pearl 
button-holder  on  the  work-table  in  my  room?"  is  at  once 
solicited  for  walking  leave,  and  graciously  accords  it.  And  soon 
the  young  couple  go  out  of  the  Nuns'  House,  taking  all  pre- 
cautions against  the  discovery  of  the  so  vitally  defective  boots 
of  Mr.  Edwin  Drood,— precautions,  let  us  hope,  effective  for 
the  peace  of  Mrs.  Edwin  Drood,  that  is  to  be. 

"  Which  way  shall  we  take,  Rosa  ?  " 

Rosa  replies,  "  I  want  to  go  to  the  Lumps-of-Delight  shop." 

"To  the—" 

"A  Turkish  sweatmeat,  sir.  My  gracious  me!  don't  you 
understand  anything?  Call  yourself  an  Engineer,  and  not 
know  that  ?  " 

"Why,  how  should  I  know  it,  Rosa?" 

"Because  I  am  very  fond  of  them.     But  oh  !  I  forgot  what 


3Q 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


we  are  to  pretend.      No,  you  needn't  know  anything   about 
them  ;  never  mind." 

So  he  is  gloomily  borne  off  to  the  Lumps-of-Delight  shop, 
where  Rosa  makes  her  purchase,  and,  after  offering  some  to 
him  (which  he  rather  indignantly  declines),  begins  to  partake  of 
it  with  great  zest,  previously  taking  off  and  rolling  up  a  pair  of 
little  pink  gloves,  like  rose-leaves,  and  occasionally  putting  her 
little  pink  fingers  to  her  rosy  lips,  to  cleanse  them  from  the 
Dust  of  Delight  that  comes  off  the  Lumps. 

"  Now,  be  a  good-tempered  Eddy,  and  pretend.  And  so  you 
are  engaged  ?  " 

"  And  so  I  am  engaged." 

"  Is  she  nice  ?  " 

"  Charming." 

"  Tall  ?  " 

"Immensely  tall !  "     (Rosa  being  short.) 

"  Must  be  gawky,  I  should  think,"  is  Rosa's  quiet  comment- 
ary. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ;  not  at  all,"  contradiction  rising  in 
him.     "  What  is  termed  a  fine  woman,  a  splendid  woman." 

"Big  nose,  no  doubt,"  is  the  quiet  commentary  again. 

"Not  a  little  one,  certainly,  is  the  quick  reply.  (Rosa's  be- 
ing a  little  one.) 

"Long  pale  nose,  with  a  red  knob  in  the  middle.  /know 
the  sort  of  nose,"  says  Rosa,  with  a  satisfied  nod,  and  tran- 
quilly enjoying  the  Lumps. 

"  You  don't  know  the  sort  of  nose,  Rosa,"  with  some  warmth  ; 
"  because  it's  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  Not  a  pale  nose,  Eddy  ?  " 
_,    "  No."     Determined  not  to  assent. 

"A  red  nose?  Oh!  I  don't  like  red  noses.  However,  to 
be  sure,  she  can  always  powder  it." 

"  She  would  scorn  to  powder  it,"  says  Edwin,  becoming 
heated. 

"  Would  she  ?  What  a  stupid  thing  she  must  be  !  Is  she 
stupid  in  everything?" 

"  No.     In  nothing." 

After  a  pause,  in  which  the  whimsically  wicked  face  has  not 
been  unobservant  of  him,  Rosa  says, 

"  And  this  most  sensible  of  creatures  likes  the  idea  of  being 
carried  off  to  Egypt,  does  she  Eddy  ?  " 

"  Yes.  She  takes  a  sensible  interest  in  triumphs  of  engineer- 
ing skill,  especially  when  they  are  to  change  the  whole  condition 
of  an  undeveloped  country." 


THE  NUNS'   HOUSE. 


31 


"  Lor  !  "  says  Rosa,  shrugging  her  shoulders,  with  a  little 
laugh  of  wonder. 

'•  Do  you  object,"  Edwin  inquires,  with  a  majestic  turn  of  his 
eyes  downward  upon  the  fairy  figure, — "  Do  you  object,  Rosa, 
to  her  feeling  that  interest  ?  " 

"Object?  My  dear  Eddy!  But  really.  Doesn't  she  hate 
boilers  and  things?  " 

"  I  can  answer  for  her  not  being  so  idiotic  as  to  hate  Boilers," 
he  returns,  with  angry  emphasis  ;  "  though  I  cannot  answer  for 
her  views  about  Things,  really  not  understanding  what  Things 
are  meant." 

"  But  don't  she  hate  Arabs,  and  Turks,  and  Fellahs,  and 
people  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  very  firmly. 

"  At  least  she  must  hate  the  Pyramids  ?     Come,  Eddy  ?  " 

"  Why  should  she  be  such  a  little — tall,  I  mean — Goose,  as 
to  hate  the  Pyramids,  Rosa  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  you  should  hear  Miss  Tvvinkleton,"  often  nodding  her 
head,  and  much  enjoying  the  Lumps,  "  bore  about  them, 
and  then  you  wouldn't  ask.  Tiresome  old  burying-grounds ! 
Isises,  and  Ibises,  and  Cheopses,and  Pharaohses  ;  who  cares 
about  them  ?  And  then  there  was  Belzoni,  or  somebody, 
dragged  out  by  the  legs,  half  choked  with  bats  and  dust.  All 
the  girls  say  serve  him  right,  and  hope  it  hurt  him,  and  wish  he 
had  been  quite  choked." 

The  two  youthful  figures,  side  by  side,  but  not  now  arm  in 
arm,  wander  discontentedly  about  the  old  Close  ;  and  each 
sometimes  stops  and  slowly  imprints  a  deeper  footstep  in  the 
fallen  leaves. 

"  Weil  !"  says  Edwin,  after  a  lengthy  silence.  "According 
to  custom.     We  can't  get  on,  Rosa." 

Rosa  tosses  her  head,  and  says  she  don't  want  to  get  on. 

"That's  a  pretty  sentiment,  Rosa,  considering." 

"  Considering  what  ?  " 

"  If  I  say  what,  you'll  go  wrong  again." 

"  You'W  go  wrong,  you  mean,  Eddy.  Don't  be  ungener- 
ous." 

"  Ungenerous  !     I  like  that !  " 

"  Then  I  don't  like  that,  and  so  I  tell  you  plainly,"  Rosa 
pouts. 

"  Now,  Rosa,  I  put  it  to  you.  Who  disparaged  my  profes- 
sion, my  destination — " 

"  You  are  not  going  to  be  buried  in  the  Pyramids,  I  hope  ?  " 
she  interrupts,   arching  her  delicate  eyebrows.       "  You  never 


32 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


said  you  were.  If  you  are,  why  haven't  you  mentioned  it  to 
me  ?     I  can't  find  out  your  plans  by  instinct." 

"Now,  Rosa,  you  know  very  well  what  I  mean,  my  dear." 

"  Well,  then,  why  did  you  begin  with  your  detestable  red- 
nosed  giantesses  ?  And  she  would,  she  would,  she  would,  she 
WOULD  powder  it!"  cries  Rosa,  in  a  little  burst  of  comical 
contradictory  spleen. 

"  Somehow  or  other,  I  never  can  come  right  in  these  discus- 
sions," says  Edwin,  sighing  and  becoming  resigned. 

"  How  is  it  possible,  sir,  that  you  ever  can  come  right  when 
you're  always  wrong  ?  And  as  to  Belzoni,  I  suppose  he's  dead  ; 
— I'm  sure  1  hope  he  is — and  how  can  his  legs  or  his  chokes 
concern  you  ?  " 

"  It  is  nearly  time  for  you  to  return,  Rosa.  We  have  not  had 
a  very  happy  walk,  have  we  ?" 

"  A  happy  walk  ?  A  detestably  unhappy  walk,  sir.  If  I  go  up- 
stairs the  moment  I  get  in  and  cry  till  I  can't  take  my  dancing- 
lesson,  you  are  responsible,  mind  !" 

"  Let  us  be  friends,  Rosa." 

"Ah  !"  cries  Rosa,  shaking  her  head  and  bursting  into  real 
tears.  "  I  wish  we  could  be  friends  ?  It's  because  we  can't  be 
friends,  that  we  try  one  another  so.  I  am  a  young  little  thing, 
Eddy,  to  have  an  old  heartache  ;  but  I  really,  really  have,  some- 
times. Don't  be  angry.  1  know  you  have  one  yourself,  too 
often.  We  should  both  of  us  have  done  better,  if  What  is  to  be 
had  been  left,  What  might  have  been.  I  am  quite  a  serious 
little  thing  now,  and  not  teasing  you.  Let  each  of  us  forbear, 
this  one  time,  on  our  own  account  and  on  the  other's  !  " 

Disarmed  by  this  glimpse  of  a  woman's  nature  in  the  spoilt 
child,  though  for  an  instant  disposed  to  resent  it  as  seeming  to 
involve  the  enforced  infliction  of  himself  upon  her,  Edwin 
Drood  stands  watching  her  as  she  childishly  cries  and  sobs,  with 
both  hands  to  the  handkerchief  at  her  eyes,  and  then — she  be- 
coming more  composed,  and  indeed  beginning  in  her  young  in- 
constancy to  laugh  at  herself  for  having  been  so  moved — leads 
her  to  a  seat  hard  by  under  the  elm-trees. 

"  One  clear  word  of  understanding,  Pussy  de$.r.  I  am  not 
clever  out  of  my  line, — now  I  come  to  think  of  it  I  don't  know 
that  I  am  particularly  in  it, — but  I  want  to  do  right.  There  is 
not — there  may  be — I  really  don't  see  my  way  to  what  I  want 
to  say,  but  must  say  it  before  we  part, — there  is  not  any  other 
young — " 

"  O  no,  Eddy  !  It's  generous  of  you  to  ask  me ;  but  no,  no, 
no !  " 


Mk     S APSE  A. 


33 


They  have  come  very  near  to  the  Cathedral  windows,  and  at 
this  moment  the  organ  and  the  choir  sound  out  sublimely.  As 
they  sit  listening  to  the  solemn  swell,  the  confidence  of  last 
night  rises  in  young  Edwin  Drood's  mind,  and  he  thinks  how 
unlike  this  music  is  to  that  discordance. 

"I  fancy  I  can  distinguish  Jack's  voice,"  is  his  remark  in  a 
low  tone  in  connection  with  the  train  of  thought. 

"  Take  ine  back  at  once,  please,"  urges  his  Affianced,  quickly 
laying  her  light  hand  upon  his  wrist.  "They  will  all  be  coming 
out  directly  ;  let  us  go  away.  O,  what  a  resounding  chord  ! 
But  don't  let  us  stop  to  listen  to  it  ;  let  us  get  away  ! " 

Her  hurry  is  over,  as  soon  as  they  have  passed  out  of  the 
Close.  They  go,  arm  in  arm  now,  gravely  and  deliberately 
emough,  along  the  old  High  Street,  to  the  Nuns'  House.  At 
the  gate,  the  street  being  within  sight  empty,  Edwin  bends- 
down  his  face  to  Rosebud's. 

She  remonstrates,  laughing,  and  is  a  childish  school-girl 
again. 

"  Eddy,  no  !  I'm  too  sticky  to  be  kissed.  But  give  me 
your  hand,  and  I'll  blow  a  kiss  into  that." 

He  does  so.  She  breathes  a  light  breath  into  it,  and  asks, 
retaining  it  and  looking  into  it, — 

"  Now  say,  what  do  you  see  ?" 

"  See,  Rosa  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  Egyptian  boys  could  look  into  a  hand 
and  see  all  sorts  of  phantoms  ?  Can't  you  see  a  happy  Fu- 
ture ?  " 

For  certain,  neither  of  them  sees  a  happy  Present,  as  the 
gate  opens  and  closes,  and  one  goes  in  and  the  other  goes 
away. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

Mr.  Sapsea. 


|CCEPTING  the  Jackass  as  the  type  of  self-sufficient 
stupidity  and  conceit, — a  custom   perhaps,  like  some 
few  other  customs,    more   conventional    than    fair, — 
then  the  purest  Jackass  in  Cloisterham  is  Mr.  Thomas 
Sapsea,  Auctioneer.  , 

Mr.  Sapsea /dresses  at"  the  Dean /has  been  bowed  to  for 


34  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

the  Dean,  in  mistake  ;  has  even  been  spoken  to  in  the  street 
as  My  Lord,  under  the  impression  that  he  was  the  Bishop  come 
down  unexpectedly,  without  his  chaplain".  Mr.  Sapsea  is  very 
proud  of  this,  and  of  his  voice,  and  of  his  sr.yle.3He  has  even  (in 
selling  landed  property)  tried  the  experiment  of  slightly  intoning 
in  his  pulpit,  to  make  himself  more  like  what  he  takes  to  be  the 
genuine  ecclesiastical  article.  So,  in  ending  a  Sale  by  Public 
Auction,  Mr.  Sapsea  finishes  off  with  an  air  of  bestowing  a 
benediction  on  the  assembled  brokers,  which  leaves  the  real 
Dean — a  modest  and  worthy  gentleman — far  behind. 

Mr.  Sapsea  has  many  admirers  ;  indeed,  the  proposition  is 
carried  by  a  large  local  majority,  even  including  non-believers 
in  his  wisdom,  that  he  is  a  credit  to  Cloisterham.  Repos- 
sesses the  great  qualities  of  being  portentous  and  dull,  and  of 
having  a  roll  in  his  speech,  and  another  roll  in  his  gait;  not 
to  mention  a  certain  gravely  flowing  action  with  his  hands,  as 
if  he  were  presently  going  to  Confirm  the  individual  with  whom 
he  holds  discourse.  Much  nearer  sixty  years  of  age  than  fifty, 
with  a  flowing  outline  of  stomach,  and  horizontal  creases  in  his 
waistcoat  ;  reputed  to  be  rich  ;  voting  at  elections  in  the 
strictly  respectable  interest  ;  morally  satisfied  that  nothing  but 
he  himself  has  grown  since  he  was  a  baby  ;  how  can  dunder- 
headed  Mr.  Sapsea  be  otherwise  than  a  credit  to  Cloisteiham. 
and  society  ? 

Mr.  Sapsea's  premises  are  in  the  High  Street,  over  against 
the  Nuns'  House.  They  are  of  about  the  period  of  the 
Nuns'  House,  irregularly  modernized  here  and  there,  as 
steadily  deteriorating  generations  found,  more  and  more,  that 
they  preferred  air  and  light  to  Fever  and  the  Plague.  Over 
the  doorway  is  a  wooden  effigy,  about  half  life-size,  representing 
Mr.  Sapsea's  father,  in  a  curly  wig  and  toga,  in  the  act  of  sell- 
ing. The  chastity  of  the  idea,  and  the  natural  appearance  of 
the  little  finger,  hammer,  and  pulpit,  have  been  much  admired. 

Mr.  Sapsea  sits  in  his  dull,  ground-floor  sitting-room,  gazing 
first  on  his  paved  back  yard,  and  then  on  his  railed-off  garden. 
Mr.  Sapsea  has  a  bottle  of  port  wine  on  a  table  before  th<  fire, 
— the  fire  is  an  early  luxury,  but  pleasant  on  a  cool,  chilly  au- 
tumn evening, — and  is  characteristically  attended  by  his  poi  trait, 
his  eight-day  clock,  and  his  weather-glass.  Characteristically, 
because  he  would  uphold  himself  against  mankind,  his  weather- 
glass against  weather,  and  his  clock  against  time. 

By  Mr.  Sapsea's  side  on  the  table  are  a  writing-desk  and  writing 
materials.  Glancing  at  a  scrap  of  manuscript,  Mr.  Sapsea  reads 
it  to  himself  with  a  lofty  air,  and  then   slowly  pacing  the  room 


MR.    SAPSEA. 


35 


with  his  thumbs  in  the  arm-holes  of  his  waistcoat,  repeats  it 
from  memory  :  so  internally,  though  with  much  dignity,  that 
the  word  "Ethelinda"  is  alone  audible. 

There  are  three  clean  wine-glasses  in  a  tray  on  a  table.  His 
serving-maid  entering,  and  announcing  "  Mr.  Jasper  is  come, 
sir,''  Mr.  Sapsea  waves,  "Admit  him,"  and  draws  two  wine- 
glasses from  the  rank,  as  being  claimed. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  sir.  I  congratulate  myself  on  having  the 
honour  of  receiving  you  here  for  the  first  time."  Mr.  Sapsea 
does  the  honour  of  his  house  in  this  wise. 

"  You  are  veiy  good.  The  honour  is  mine  and  the  self-con- 
gratulation is  mine." 

"  You  are  pleased  to  say  so,  sir.  But  I  do  assure  you  that 
it  is  a  satisfaction  to  me  to  receive  you  in  my  humble  home. 
And  that  is  what  I  would  not  say  to  everybody."  Ineffable 
loftiness  on  Mr.  Sapsea' s  part  accompanies  these  words,  as 
leaving  the  sentence  to  be  understood  :  "You  will  not  easily 
believe  that  your  society  can  be  a  satisfaction  to  a  man  like 
myself;  but  nevertheless,  it  is." 

"  I  have  for  some  time  desired  to  know  you,  Mr.  Sapsea." 

"  And  I,  sir,  have  long  known  you  by  reputation  as  a  man 
of  taste.  Let  me  fill  your  glass.  J  I  will  give  you,  sir,"  says 
Mr.  Sapsea,  filling  his  own, — 

"  When  the  French  come  over, 
May  we  meet  them  at  Dover  !  " 

This  was  a  patriotic  toast  in  Mr.  Sapsea's  infancy,  and  he  is 
therefore  fully  convinced  of  its  being  appropriate  to  any  sub- 
sequent era. 

/  "  You  can  scarcely  be  ignorant,  Mr.  Sapsea,"  observes  Jas- 
per, watching  the  auctioneer  with  a  smile,  as  the  latter  stretches 
out  his  legs  before  the  fire,  "  that  you  know  the  world." 

"  Well,  sir,"  is  the  chuckling  reply,  "  I  think  I  know  some- 
thing of  it, — something  of  it." 

"  Your  reputation  for  that  knowledge  has  always  interested 
and  surprised  me,  and  made  me  wish  to  know  you.  For  Clois- 
terham  is  a  little  place.  Cooped  up  in  it  myself,  I  know  noth- 
ing beyond  it,  and  feel  it  to  be  a  very  little  place." 

"If  I  have  not  gone  to  foreign  countries,  young  man,"  Mr.' 
Sapsea  begins,  and  then  stops,  —  "You  will  excuse  me  calling 
you  young  man,  Mr.  Jasper?     You  are  much  my  Junior." 

"By  all  means." 

!-If  I   have  not  gone  into  foreign  countries,  young  man, 


36 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


foreign  countries  have  come  to  me.  They  have  come  to  me  in 
the  way  of  business,  and  I  have  improved  upon  my  opportuni- 
ties. Put  it  that  I  take  an  inventory,  or  make  a  catalogue.  I 
see  a  French  clock.  I  never  saw  him  before  in  my  life,  but  I 
instantly  lay  my  finger  on  him  and  say  'Paris.'  I  see  some 
cups  and  saucers  of  Chinese  make,  equally  strangers  to  me 
personally  :  I  put  my  finger  on  them,  then  and  .there,  and  I 
say  '  Pekin,  Nankin,  and  Canton.'  It  is  the  same  with  Japan, 
with  Egyptj  and  with  the  bamboo  and  sandal-wood  from  the 
East  Indies  ;  I  put  my  finger  on  them  all.  I  have  put  my 
finger  on  the  North  Pole  before  now,  and  said,  '  Spear  of  Es- 
quiniaux  make,  for  half  a  pint  of  pale  sherry!  " 

•'Really?  A  very  remarkable  way,  Mr.  Sapsea,  of  acquiring 
knowledge  of  men  and  tilings." 

"  I  mention  it,  sir,"  Mr.  Sapsea  rejoins,  with  unspeakable 
complacency, ""  because,  as  I  say,  it  don't  do  to  boast  of  what 
you  are ;  but  show  how  you  came  to  be  it,  and  then  you  prove 
it."  /— - 

•'Most  interesting./  We  were  to  speak  of  the  late  Mrs. 
Sapsea." 

"  We  were,  sir."     Mr.  Sapsea  fills  both  glasses,  and  takes  the 

decanter  into  safe-keeping    again.      "Before    I    consult    your 

opinion  as  a  man  of  taste  in  this  little  trifle,'/ — hekhng-i-t-aip, — • 

'•  whTch^-^//-a--tr4fler-and  still  lias-required  sQ]iie_ihottghtr-sir, 

i   lie  little    fever  of  the.  Jarxuv-,/1  ought  perhaps  to  describe  the 

uactei-  of  the  late  Mrs.  Sapsea,  now  dead  three  quarters  of  a 

Ir.  Jasper,  in  the  act  of  yawning  behind  his  wine-glass,  puts 
vvn  that  screen  and  calls  up  a  look  of  interest.  It  is  a  little 
impaired  in  its  expressiveness  by  his  having  a  shut-up  gape  still 
todispose  of,  with  watering  eyes. 

/\u  Half  a  dozen  years  ago,  or  so,", Mr.  Sapsea  proceeds, 
"  when  I  had  enlarged  my  mind  up  t(j/-I-wtH  not  say— to  what 
it  now  is,  for  that  might  seem  to  aim  at  too  much,  but  u\\  to 
the  pitch  of  wanting  another  mind  to  be  absorbed  in  it — I  cast 
my  eye  about  me  for  a  nuptial  partner.  Because,  as  I  say,  it 
is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone." 

-^Mr.  Jasper  appears  to  commit  this  original  idea  to  memory. 
"Miss  Probity  at  that  time  kept,  I  will  not  call  it  the  rival 
establishment  to  the  establishment  at  the  Nuns'  House  opposite, 
but  I  will  call  it  the  other  parallel  establishment  down  town. 
The  world  did  have  it  that  she  showed  a  passion  for  attending 
my  sales,  when  they  took  place  on  half-holidays,  or  in  vacation 
time.     The  world  did  put  it  about  that  she   admired  my  style. 


MR.    SAPSEA. 


37 


The  world  did  notice  that,  as  time  flowed  by,  my  style  became 
traceable  in  the  dictation-exercises  of  Miss  Brobity's  pupils. 
Young  man,  a  whisper  even  sprang  up  in  obscure  malignity, 
that  one  ignorant  and  besotted  Churl  (a  parent)  so  committed 
himself  as  to  object  to  it  by  name.  But  I  do  not  believe 
this.  For  is  it  likely  that  any  human  creature  in  his  right 
senses  would  so  lay  himself  open  to  be  pointed  at,  by  what  I 
call  the  finger  of  scorn  ?  "  a~-~ 

Mr.  Jasper  shakes  his  head.  Not  in  the  least  likely.  Air. 
Sapsea,  in  a  grandiloquent  state  of  absence  of  mind,  seems  to 
refill  his  visitor's  glass,  which  is  full  already,  and  does  really 
refill  his  own,  which  is  empty. 

"  Miss  Brobity's  Being,  young  man,  was  deeply  imbued  with 
homage  to  Mind.  She  revered  Mind,  when  launched,  or,  as  I 
say,  precipitated,  on  an  extensive  knowledge  of  the  world. 
When  I  made  my  proposal,  she  did  me  the  honor  to  be  so 
overshadowed  with  a  species  of  Awe,  as  to  be  able  to  articulate 
only  the  two  words  '  O  Thou  !' — meaning  myself.  Her  limpid 
blue  eyes  were  fixed  upon  me,  her  semi-transparent  hands  were 
clasped  together,  pallor  overspread  her  aquiline  features,  and 
though  encouraged  to  proceed,  she  never  did  proceed  a  word 
further.  L  .disposed,  <->£  the  para JUl---^^t^lislWe}>tr4)y--p44-vate 
contract,  a-nU  we  became  as  nearly  one  as  could  be  expected 
under  the  circumstances.  Hut  she  never  could,  and  she'  never 
did,  find  a  phrase  satisfactory  to  her  perhaps-too-favourable  esti- 
mate of  my  intellect.  To  the  very  last  (feeble  action  of  liver), 
she  addressed  me  in  the  same  unfinished  terms." 

Mr.  Jasper  has  closed  his  eyes  as  the  auctioneer  has  deep- 
ened his  voice.  He  now  apruptly  opens  them,  and  says,  in 
unison  with  the  deepened  voice,  "Ah  !  " — rather  as  if  stopping 
himself-en  the-extreme  verge  of  adding — "men  !" 

"  I  have  been  since,"  says-M-rr-Sapsear/with  his  legs  stretched 
out,  and  solemnly  enjoying  himself  with  the  wine  and  fire, 
"  what  you  behold  me  ;  I  have  been  since  a  solitary  mourner  ; 
1 4Hwed7eerr?rnee7-a-s--^^ 

an  the  tLaswf-fiir.  I  will  not  say  that  I  have  reproached  my- 
self; but  there  have  been  times  when  I  have  asked  myself  the 
question,  What  if  her  husband  had  been  nearer  on  a  level  with 
her?  If  she  had  not  had  to  look  up  quite  so  high,  what  might 
the  stimulating  action  have  been  upon  the  liver  ?  " 

Mr.  Jasper  says,  with  an  appearance  of  having  fallen  into 
dreadfully  low  spirits,  that  he  "  supposes  it  was  to  be." 

"  We  can  only  suppose  so,  sir,"  Mr.  Sapsea  coincides.  "  As 
I  say,  Man  proposes,  Heaven  disposes.     It  may  or  may  not  be 


38  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

putting  the  same  thought  in  another  form  ;  but  that  is  the  way 
1  pur  jr." 

A l.r.  Jasper  murmur-;  assent. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Jasp  r,"  resumes  the  auctioneer,  producing 
his  scrap  of  manuscript,  '-.Mrs.  Sapsea's  monument  having  had 
full  time  to  settle  and  dry,  let  me  take  your  opinion,  as  a  man 
of  taste,  on  the  inscription  I  have  (as  I  before  remarked,  not 
without  souk'  little  fever  of  the  brow)  drawn  out  for  it.  Take 
it  in  your  own  hand.  The  setting  out  of  the  lines  requires  to. 
be  followed  with  the  eye,  as  well  as  the  contents  with  the 
mind." 

Mr.  Jasper,  complying,  sees  and  reads  as  follows  : 

ETHELINDA, 

Reverential  Wife  of 
MR.  THOMAS    SAPSEA, 

AUCTIONEER,  VALUER,   ESTATE  AGENT,  &C, 
OF  THIS   CITY. 

Whose  Knowledge  of  the  World, 

Though  somewhat  extensive, 

Never  brought  him  acquainted  with    ^ 

A  SPIRIT 

More  capable  of 

looking"  up  to  him. 

STRANGER,  PAUSE 

And  ask  thyself  the  Question, 

CANST  THOU  DO  LIKEWISE? 

If  Not, 

WITH  A  BLUSH  RETIRE. 

Mr.  Sapsea  having  risen  and  stationed  himself  with  his  back 
to  the  fire,  for  the  purpose  of  observing  the  effect  of  these  lines 
on  the  countenance  of  a  man  of  taste,  consequently  has  his  face 
towards  the  door,  when  his  serving-maid,  again  appearing,  an- 
nounces, "  Durdles  is  come,  sir  !  "  He  promptly  draws  forth 
and  fills  the  third  wine-glass,  as  being  now  claimed,  and  replies, 
"  Show  Durdles  in." 

"Admirable  !  "   quoth  Mr.  Jasper,  handing  back  the  paper. 

"You  approve,  sir  ?  " 

"Impossible  not  to  approve.  Striking,  characteristic,  and 
complete." 

The  auctioneer  inclines  his  head,  as  one  accepting  his  due 
and  giving  a  receipt,  and  invites  the  entering  Durdles  to  take 
off  that  glass  of  wine  (handing  the  same),  for  it  will  warm  him. 


MR.    S APSE  A. 


39 


Durdles  is  a  stone  mason  ;  chiefly  in  the  gravestone,  tomb, 
and  monument  way,  and  wholly  of  their  color  from  head  to 
foot.  No  man  is  better  known  in  Cloisterham.  He  is  the 
chartered  libertine  of  the  place.  Fame  trumpets  him  a  won- 
derful workman, — which,  for  aught  that  anybody  knows,  he 
may  be  (as  he  never  works)  ;  and  a  wonderful  sot, — which 
everybody  knows  he  is.  With  the  Cathedral  crypt  he  is  better 
acquainted  than  any  living  authority  ;  it  may  even  be  than  any 
dead  one.  It  is  said  that  the  intimacy  of  this  acquaintance 
began  in  his  habitually  resorting  to  that  secret  place,  to  lock 
out  the  Cloisterham  boy-populace,  and  sleep  off  the  fumes  of 
liquor,  he  having  ready  access  to  the  Cathedral,  as  contractor 
for  rough  repairs.  Be  this  as  it  may,  he  does  know  much 
about  it,  and,  in  the  demolition  of  impedimental  fragments  of 
wall,  buttress,  and  pavement,  has  seen  strange  sights.  He 
often  speaks  of  himself  in  the  third  person  ;  perhaps  being  a 
little  misty  as  to  his  own  identity  when  he  narrates  ;  perhaps 
impartially  adopting  the  Cloisterham  nomenclature  in  reference 
to  a  character  of  acknowledged  distinction.  Thus  he  will  say, 
touching  his  strange  sights,  "  Durdlescome  upon  the  old  chap," 
in  reference  to  a  buried  magnate  of  ancient  time  and  high 
degree,  "by  striking  right  into  the  coffin  with  his  pick.  The 
old  chap  gave  Durdles  a  look  with  his  open  eyes,  as  much  as 
to  say,  'Is  your  name  Durdles?  Why,  my  man,  I've  been 
waiting  for  you  a  Devil  of  a  time  ! '  And  then  he  turned  to 
powder."  With  a  two  foot  rule  always  in  his  pocket,  and  a 
mason's  hammer  all  but  always  in  his  hand,  Durdles  goes  con- 
tinually sounding  and  tapping  all  about  and  about  the  Cathe- 
dral ;  and  whenever  he  says  to  Tope,  "Tope,  here's  another 
old  'un  in  here  !  "  Tope  announces  it  to  the  Dean  as  an  estab- 
lished discovery. 

In  a  suit  of  coarse  flannel  with  horn  buttons,  a  yellow  neck- 
erchief with  draggled  ends,  an  old  hat  more  russet-colored  than 
black,  and  laced  boots  of  the  hue  of  his  stony  calling,  Durdles 
leads  a  hazy,  gypsy  sort  of  life,  carrying  his  dinner  about  with 
him  in  a  small  bundle,  and  sitting  on  all  manner  of  tombstones 
to  dine.  This  dinner  of  Durdle's  has  become  quite  a  Cloister- 
ham institution  ;  not  only  because  of  his  never  appearing  in 
public  without  it,  but  because  of  its  having  been,  on  certain 
renowned  occasions,  taken  into  custody  along  with  Durdles  (as 
drunk  and  incapable),  and  exhibited  before  the  Bench  of  Jus- 
tices at  the  Town  Hall.  These  occasions,  however,  have  been 
few  and  far  apart,  Durdles  being  as  seldom  drunk  as  sober. 
For  the  rest,  he  is  an  old  bachelor,  and  he  lives  in  a  little 


40  THE   MYSTERY   OE  EDWIN  DROOD. 

antiquated  hole  of  a  house  that  was  never  finished,  supposed  to 
be  built,  so  far,  of  stones  stolen  from  the  city  wall.  To  this 
abode  there  is  an  approach,  ankle-deep  in  stone  chips,  resem- 
bling a  petrified  grove  of  tombstones,  urns,  draperies,  and 
broken  columns,  in  all  stages  of  sculpture.  Herein,  two  jour- 
neymen incessantly  chip,  while  two  other  journeymen,  who  face 
each  other,  incessantly  saw  stone,  dipping  as  regularly  in  and 
out  of  their  sheltering  sentry-boxes,  as  if  they  were  mechanical 
figures  emblematical  of  Time  and  Death. 

To  Durdles,  when  he  has  consumed  his  glass  of  port,  Mr. 
Sapsea  intrusts  that  precious  effort  of  his  Muse.  Durdles  un- 
feelingly takes  out  his  two-foot  rule,  and  measures  the  lines 
calmly,  alloying  them  with  stone-grit. 

"  This  is  for  the  monument,  is  it,  Mr.  Sapsea  ?  " 

"The  inscription.  Yes."  Mr.  Sapsea  waits  for  its  effect  on 
a  common  mind. 

"  It'll  come  in  to  a  eighth  of  a  inch,"  says  Durdles.  "  Your 
servant,  Mr.  Jasper.      Hope  I  see  you  well." 

"  How  are  you,  Durdles  ?  " 

"  I've  got  a  touch  of  the  Tombatism  on  me,  Mr.  Jasper,  but 
that  I  must  expect." 

"  You  mean  the  Rheumatism,"  says  Sapsea,  in  a  sharp  tone. 
(He  is  nettled  by  having  his  composition  so  mechanically  re- 
f  ceived.) 

"No,  I  don't.  I  mean,  Mr.  Sapsea,  the  Tombatism.  Its 
another  sort  from  Rheumatism.  Mr.  Jasper  knows  what  Dur- 
dles means.  You  get  among  them  Tombs  afore  it's  well  light 
on  a  winter  morning,  and  keep  on,  as  the  Catechism  says,  a 
\  walking  in  the  same  all  the  days  of  your  life,  andjWll  know 
what  Durdles  means." 

"  It  is  a  bitter  cold  place,"  Mr.  Jasper  assents,  with  an  an- 
tipathetic shiver. 

"  And  if  it's  bitter  cold  for  you,  up  in  the  chancel,  with  a  lot 
of  liye  breath  smoking  out  about  you,  what  the  bitterness  is  to 
Durdles,  down  in  the  crypt  among  the  earthy  damps  there,  and 
the  dead  breath  of  the  old  'uns,"  returns  that  individual,  "  Dur- 
dles leaves  you  to  judge.  —  Is  this  to  be  put  in  hand  at  once, 
Mr.  Sapsea  ?  " 

Mr.  Sapsea,  with  an  Author's  anxiety  to  rush  into  publica- 
tion, replies  that  it  cannot  be  out  of  hand  too  soon. 

"  You  had  better  let  me  have  the  key,  then,"  says  Durdles. 

"  Why,  man,  it  is  not  to  be  put  inside  the  monument  ! " 

"  Durdles  knows  where  it's  to  be  put,  Mr.  Sapsea;  no  man 


MR.    S  APSE  A. 


41 


better.  Ask  'ere  a  man  in  Cloisterham  whether  Durdle*  knows 
his  work." 

Mr.  Sapsea  rises,  takes  a  key  from  a  drawer,  unlocks  an  iron 
safe  let  into  the  wall,  and  takes  from  it  another  key. 

"  When  Durdles  puts  a  touch  or  a  finish  upon  his  work,  no 
matter  where,  inside  or  outside,  Durdles  likes  to  look  at  his 
work  all  round,  and  see  that  his  work  is  a  doing  him  credit,-' 
Durdles  explains,  doggedly. 

The  key  proffered  him  by  the  bereaved  widower  being  a  large 
one,  he  slips  his  two-foot  rule  into  a  side  pocket  of  his  flannel 
trousers'  made  for  it,  and  deliberately  opens  his  flannel  coat, 
and  opens  the  mouth  of  a  large  breast-pocket  within  it  before 
taking  the  key  to  place  in  that  repository.  "  Why,  Durdles  !  " 
exclaims  Jasper,  looking  on  amused.  "You  are  undermined 
with  pockets  !  " 

"  And  I  carries  weight  in  'em  too,  Mr.  Jasper.  Feel  those," 
producing  two  other  large  keys. 

"  Hand  me  Mr.  Sapsea's  likewise.  Surely  this  is  the  heaviest 
of  the  three." 

"You'll  find  'em  much  of  a  muchness,  I  expect,"  says  Dur- 
dles. "They  all  belong  to  monuments.  They  all  open  Dur- 
dles's  work.  Durdles  keeps  the  keys  of  his  work  mostly.  Not 
that  they're  much  used." 

"  By  the  by,"  it  comes  into  Jasper's  mind  to  say,  as  he  idly 
examines  the  keys,  "  I  have  been  going  to  ask  you,  many  a 
day,  and  have  always  forgotten.  You  know  they  sometimes 
call  you  Stony  Durdles,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Cloisterham  knows  me  as  Durdles,  Mr.  Jasper." 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,  of  course.  But  the  boys  some- 
times— ■" 

"  Oh  !  If  you  mind  them  young  Imps  of  boys — "  Durdles 
gruffly  interrupts. 

"  I  don't  mind  them  any  more  than  you  do.  But  there  was 
a  discussion  the  other  day  among  the  Choir,  whether  Stony 
stood  for  Tony;"  clinking  one  key  against  another. 

("Take  care  of  the  wards,  Mr.  Jasper."") 

"  Or  whether  Stony  stood  for  Stephen  ;  "  clinking  with  change 
Oi  keys. 

("You  can't  make  a  pitch-pipe  of 'em,  Mr.  Jasper.") 

"  Or  whether  the  name  comes  from  your  trade.  How  stands 
the  fact  ?  " 

Mr.  Jasper  weighs  the  three  keys  in  his  hand,  lifts  his  head 
from  his  idly  stooping  attitude  over  the  fire,  and  delivers  the 
keys  to  Durdles  with  an  ingenuous  and  friendly  face. 


42  THE   MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

But  the  stony  one  is  a  gruff  one  likewise,  and  that  hazy  state 
of  his  is  always  an  uncertain  slate,  highly  conscious  of  its  dig- 
nity, and  prone  to  take  offence,  lie  drops  his  two  keys  back 
into  his  pocket  one  by  one,  and  buttons  them  up  ;  he  takes 
his  dinner-bundle  from  the  chair-back  on  which  he  hung  it 
when  he  came  in  ;  he  distributes  the  weight  he  carries,  by  tying 
the  third  key  up  in  it,  as  though  he  were  an  Ostrich,  and  liked 
to  dine  oil  cold  iron  ;  and  he  gets  out  of  the  room,  deigning  no 
word  of  answer. 

Air.  Sapsea  then  proposes  a  hit  at  backgammon,  which,  sea- 
soned with  his  own  improving  conversation,  and  terminating  in 
a  supper  of  cold  roast  beef  and  salad;  beguiles  the  golden  even- 
ing until  pretty  late.  Mr.  Sapsea's  wisdom  being,  in  its  de- 
livery to  mortals,  rather  of  the  diffuse  than  the  epigrammatic 
order,  is  by  no  means  expanded  even  then  ;  but  his  visitor  inti- 
mates that  he  will  come  back  for  more  of  the  precious  com- 
modity on  future  occasions,  and  Mr.  Sapsea  lets  him  off  for  the 
present,  to  ponder  on  the  instalment  he  carries  away. 


CHAPTER    V. 

Mr.  Durdles  and  Friend. 


gl&pjgl]OHN  JASPER  on  his  way  home  through  the  Close,  is 
foMKiSl  brought  to  a  standstill  by  t 


by  the  spectacle  of  Stony  Dur- 
dles, dinner-bundle  and  all,  leaning  his  back  against  the 
iron  railing  of  the  burial-ground  enclosing  it  from  the 
old  cloister-arches  ;  and  a  hideous  small  boy  in  rags  flinging 
stones  at  him  as  a  well-defined  mark  in  the  moonlight.  Some- 
times the  stones  hit  him,  and  sometimes  they  miss  him,  but 
Durdles  seems  indifferent  to  either  fortune.  The  hideous  small 
boy,  on  the  contrary,  whenever  he  hit  Durdles,  blows  a  whistle 
of  triumph  through  a  jagged  gap  convenient  for  the  purpose,  in 
the  front  of  his  mouth,  where  half  his  teeth  are  wanting  ;  and 
whenever  he  misses  him,  yelps  out  "  Mulled  agin  !  "  and  tries  to 
atone  for  the  failure  by  taking  a  more  correct  and  vicious 
aim. 

"What  are  you  doing  to  the  man?"  demands  Jasper,  step- 
ping out  into  the  moonlight  from  the  shade. 

"  Making  a  cock-shy  of  him,"  replies  the  hideous  small 
boy. 


MR.   DURDLES  AND  FRTRND. 


43 


"  Give  mc  those  stones  in  your  hand." 

"Yes,  I'll  give  'em  you  down  your  throat,  if  you  come  a 
ketching  hold  of  me,"  says  the  small  boy,  shaking  himself 
loose,  and  backing.  "  I'll  smash  your  eye,  if  you  don't  look 
out  !" 

"Baby-Devil  that  you  are,  what  has  the  man  done  to  you  ?  " 

"  He  won't  go  home." 

"What  is  that  to  you  ?" 

"  He  gives  me  a  'aperiny  to  pelt  him  home  if  I  ketches  him 
out  too  late,"  says  the  boy.  And  then  chants  like  a  little  sav- 
age, half  stumbling  and  half  dancing  among  the  rags  and  laces 
of  his  dilapidated  boots, — 

"  Widely  widdy  wen  ! 

I — ket — ches — Im — out — ar — ter — ten, 

Widely  widely  wy  ! 

Then — E — don't — go — then — I — shy — 

Widdy  Widdy  Wake-cock  warning  !  " 

— with  a  comprehensive  sweep  on  the  last  word,  and  one  more 
delivery  at  Durdles. 

This  would  seem  to  be  a  poetical  note  of  preparation,  agreed 
upon  as  a  caution  to  Durdles  to  stand  clear  if  he  can,  or  to  be- 
take himself  homeward. 

John  Jasper  invites  the  boy  with  a  beck  of  his  head  to  follow 
him  (feeling  it  hopeless  to  drag  him,  or  coax  him)  and  crosses 
to  the  iron  railing  where  the  Stony  (and  stoned)  One  is  pro- 
foundly meditating. 

"  Do  you  know  this  thing,  this  child  ?  "  asks  Jasper,  at  a  loss 
for  a  word  that  will  define  this  thing. 

"  Deputy,"  says  Durdles,  with  a  nod. 

'  Is  that  its — his — name  ?  " 

'  Deputy,"  assents  Durdles. 

"  I'm  man-servant  up  at  the  Travellers'  Twopenny  in  Gas 
Works  Garding,"  this  thing  explains.  "All  us  man-servants 
at  Travellers  Lodgings  is  named  Deputy.  When  we're  chock 
full  and  the  Travellers  is  all  a-bed  I  come  out  for  my  'elth." 
Then,  withdrawing  into  the  road,  and  taking  aim,  he  resumes, — 

"  Widdy  widdy  wen  ! 

I — ket — ches — Im — out — ar — ter — " 

"Hold  your  hand,"  cries  Jasper,  "and  don't  throw  while  I 
stand  so  near  him,  or  I'll  kill  you  !  Come,  Durdles;  let  me 
walk  home  with  you  to-night.     Shall  I  carry  your  bundle  ?  " 


44  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  BROOD. 

"  Not  on  any  account,"  replies  Durdles,  adjusting  it.  "  Hur- 
dles was  making  his  reflections  here  when  you  come  up,  sir, 
surrounded  by  his  works,  like  a  popular  Author— your  own 
brother-in-law"  ;  introducing  a  sarcophagus  within  the  railing, 
white  and  cold  in  the  moonlight.  '-Mrs.  Sapsea"  ;  introduc- 
ing the  monument  of  that  devoted  wife.  "  Late  Incumbent -"  ; 
introducing  the  Reverend  Gentleman's  broken  column.  "  De- 
parted  Assessed  Taxes"  ;  introducing  a  vase  and  towel,  stand- 
ing on  what  might  represent  the  cake  of  soap.  "  Former 
pastry-cook  and  muffin-maker,  much  respected";  introducing 
grave-stone.  "  All  safe  and  sound  here,  sir,  and  all  Durdles's 
work  !  Of  the  common  folk  that  is  merely  bundled  up  in  turf 
and  brambles,  the  less  said,  the  better.     A  poor  lot,  soon  for- 

80t-" 

"This  creature,  Deputy,  is  behind  us,"  says  Jasper,  looking 

back.     "  Is  he  to  follow  us?" 

The  relations  between  Durdles  and  Deputy  are  of  a  capri- 
cious kind  ;  for,  on  Durdles's  turning  himself  about  with  the 
slow  gravity  of  beery  soddenness,  Deputy  makes  a  pretty  wide 
circuit  into  the  road  and  stands  on  the  defensive. 

"  You  never  cried  Widdy  Warning  before  you  begun  to- 
night," says  Durdles,  unexpectedly  reminded  of,  or  imagin- 
ing, an  injury. 

"  Yer  lie,  I  did,"  says  Deputy,  in  his  only  form  of  polite 
contradiction. 

"  Own  brother,  sir,"  observes  Durdles,  turning  himself 
about  again,  and  as  unexpectedly  forgetting  his  offence  as  he 
had  recalled  or  conceived  it, — "own  brother  to  Peter  the  Wild 
Boy !     But  I  gave  him  an  object  in  life." 

"  At  which  he  takes  aim  ?  "   Mr.  Jasper  suggests. 

"That's  it,  sir,"  returns  Durdles,  quite  satisfied;  "at  which 
he  takes  aim.  I  took  him  in  hand  and  gave  him  an  object. 
What  was  he  before?  A  destroyer.  What  work  did  he  do  ? 
Nothing  but  destruction.  What  did  he  earn  by  it  ?  Short 
terms  in  Cloisterham  Jail.  Not  a  person,  not  a  piece  of  prop- 
erty, not  a  winder,  not  a  horse,  nor  a  dog,  nor  a  cat,  nor  a  bird, 
nor  a  fowl,  nor  a  pig,  but  what  he  stoned  for  want  of  an  en- 
lightened object.  I  put  that  enlightened  object  before  him, 
and  now  he  can  turn  his  honest  halfpenny  by  the  three  penn'- 
orth a  week." 

"  I  Avonder  he  has  no  competitors." 

"  He  has  plenty,  Mr.  Jasper,  but  he  stones  'em  all  away. 
Now,  I  don't  know  what  this  scheme  of  mine  comes  to,"  pur- 
sues Durdles,  considering  about  it  with  the  same  sodden  grav- 


MR.    DURDLES  AND  FRIEND.  45 

ity  ;  "  I  don't  know  what  you  may  precisely  call  it.  It  ain't  a 
sort  of  a — scheme  of  a — National  Education  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  not,"  replies  Jasper. 

"/should  say  not,"  assents  Durdles;  "then  we  won't  try  to 
give  it  a  name." 

"  He  still  keeps  behind  us,"  repeats  Jasper,  looking  over  his 
shoulder  ;   "  is  lie  to  follow  us?" 

"We  can't  help  going  round  by  the  Travellers'  Twopenny, 
if  we  go  the  short  way,  which  is  the  back  way,"  Durdles  an- 
swers, "and  we'll  drop  him  there." 

So  they  go  on  ;  Deputy,  as  a  rear  rank  of  one,  taking  open 
order,  and  invading  the  silence  of  the  hour  and  place  by  ston- 
ing" every  wall,  post,  pillar,  and  other  inanimate  object,  by  the 
deserted  way. 

"Is  there  anything  new  down  in  the  crypt,  Durdles  ?"  asks 
John  Jasper. 

"Anything  old,  I  think  you  mean,"  growls  Durdles.  "It 
ain't  a  spot  for  novelty." 

"Any  new  discovery  on  your  part,  I  meant." 

"There's  a  old  'un  under  the  seventh  pillar  on  the  left  as 
you  go  down  the  broken  steps  of  the  little  underground  chapel 
as  formerly  was,  I  make  him  out  (so  fur  as  I've  made  him  out 
yet)  to  be  one  of  them  old  'uns  with  a  crook.  To  judge  from 
the  size  of  the  passages  in  the  walls,  and  of  the  steps  and  doors, 
by  which  they  come  and  went,  them  crooks  must  have  been  a 
good  deal  in  the  way  of  the  old  'uns  !  Two  on  'em  meeting 
promiscuous  must  have  hitched  one  another  by  the  mitre, 
pretty  often,  I  should  say." 

Without  any  endeavour  to  correct  the  lilerality  of  this  opin- 
ion, Jasper  surveys  his  companion— covered  from  head  to  foot 
with  old  mortar,  lime,  and  stone  grit — as  though  he,  Jasper, 
were  getting  imbued  with  a  romantic  interest  in  his  weird  life. 

"  Yours  is  a  curious  existence." 

Without  furnishing  the  least  clew  to  the  question,  whether 
he  receives  this  as  a  compliment  or  as  quite  the  reverse,  Dur- 
dles gruffly  answers,  "  Yours  is  another." 

"  Well !  Inasmuch  as  my  lot  is  cast  in  the  same  old  earthy, 
chilly,  never-changing  place,  Yes.  But  there  is  much  more 
mystery  and  interest  in  your  connection  with  the  Cathedral 
than  in  mine.  Indeed,  I  am  beginning  to  have  some  idea  of 
asking  you  to  take  me  on  as  a  sort  of  student,  or  free 'prentice, 
under  you,  and  to  let  me  go  about  with  you  sometimes,  and 
see  some  of  these  odd  nooks  in  which  you  pass  your  days." 

The  Stony  One  replies,  in  a  general  way,  AH  right.     Every. 


46  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

body  knows  where  to  find  Durdles  when  he's  wanted.  Which, 
if  not  strictly  true,  is  approximately  so,  if  taken  to  express  that 
Durdles  may  always  be  found  in  a  state  of  vagabondage  some- 
where. 

"  What  I  dwell  upon  most,"  says  Jasper,  pursuing  his  subject 
of  romantic  interest,  "is  the  remarkable  accuracy  with  which 
you  would  seem  to  find  out  where  people  arc  buried — What  is 
the  matter?     That  bundle  is  in  your  way  ;   let  me  hold  it." 

Durdles  has  stopped  and  backed  a  little  (Deputy,  attentive 
to  all  his  movements,  immediately  skirmishing  into  the  road), 
and  was  looking  about  for  some  ledge  or  corner  to  place  his 
bundle  on,  when  thus  relieved  of  it. 

"Just  you  give  me  my  hammer  out  of  that,"  says  Durdles, 
"  and  I'll  show  you." 

Clink,  clink.     And  his  hammer  is  handed  him. 

"  Now,  lookee  here.  You  pitch  your  note,  don't  you,  Mr. 
Jasper? " 

"  Yes." 

"  So  I  sound  for  mine.  I  take  my  hammer,  and  I  tap." 
(Here  he  strikes  the  pavement,  and  the  attentive  Deputy  skir- 
mishes at  a  rather  wider  range,  as  supposing  that  his  head  may 
be  in  requisition.)  "  I  tap,  tap,  tap.  Solid  !  I  go  on  tapping. 
Solid  still !  Tap  again.  Holloa  !  Hollow !  Tap  again,  per- 
severing. Solid  in  hollow  !  tap,  tap,  tap,  to  try  it  better.  Solid 
in  hollow  ;  and  inside  solid,  hollow  again  !  There  you  are  ! 
Old  'tin  crumbled  away  in  stone  coffin,  in  vault  !  " 

"  Astonishing  !  " 

"  I  have  even  done  this,"  says  Durdles,  drawing  out  his  two- 
foot  rule  (Deputy  meanwhile  skirmishing  nearer,  as  suspecting 
that  Treasure  may  be  about  to  be  discovered,  which  may  some- 
how lead  to  his  own  enrichment,  and  the  delicious  treat  of  the 
discoverers  being  hanged  by  the  neck,  on  his  evidence,  until 
they  are  dead).  "  Say  that  hammer  of  mine's  a  wall — my  work. 
Two  ;  four  ;  and  two  is  six,"  measuring  on  the  pavement. 
"  Six  foot  inside  that  wall  is  Mrs.  Sapsea." 

"  Not  really  Mrs.  Sapsea?" 

'•  Say  Mrs.  Sapsea.  Her  wall's  thicker,  but  say  Mrs.  Sapsea. 
Durdles  taps  that  wall  represented  by  that  hammer,  and  says, 
after  good  sounding,  '  Something  betwixt  us  ! '  Sure  enough, 
some  rubbish  has  been  left  in  that  same  six-foot  space  by  Dur- 
dles's  men  !  " 

Jasper  opines  that  such  accuracy  "is  a  gift." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  it  at  a  gift,"  returns  Durdles,  by  no  means 
receiving  the  observation  in  good  part.     "  I  worked  it  out  for 


MR.    DURDLES  AND  FRIEND. 


47 


myself.  Durdles  comes  by  his  knowledge  through  grubbing 
deep  for  it,  and  having  it  up  by  the  roots  when  it  don't  want  to 
come. — Halloa,  you  Deputy  !  " 

"  VViddy  !  "  is  Deputy's  shrill  response,  standing  off  again. 

"  Catch  that  ha'penny.  And  don't  let  me  see  any  more  of 
you  to-night,  after  we  come  to  the  Traveller's  Twopenny." 

••Warning!"  returns  Deputy,  having  caught  the  halfpenny, 
and  appearing  by  this  mystic  word  to  express  his  assent  to  the 
arrangement. 

They  have  but  to  cross  what  was  once  the  vineyard,  belong- 
ing to  what  was  once  the  Monastery,  to  come  into  the  narrow- 
back  lane  wherein  stands  the  crazy  wooden  house  of  two  low 
stories  currently  known  as  the  Travellers'  Twopenny, — a  house 
all  warped  and  distorted,  like  the  morals  of  the  travellers,  with 
scant  remains  of  a  latticework  porch  over  the  door,  and  also  of 
a  rustic  fence  before  its  stamped-out  garden  ;  by  reason  of  the 
travellers  being  so  bound  to  the  premises  by  a  tender  sentiment 
(or  so  fond  of  having  a  fire  by  the  roadside  in  the  course  of  the 
day)  that  they  can  never  be  persuaded  or  threatened  into  de- 
parture, without  violently  possessing  themselves  of  some  wooden 
forget-me-not,  and  bearing  it  off. 

The  semblance  of  an  inn  is  attempted  to  be  given  to  this 
wretched  place  by  fragments  of  conventional  red  curtaining  in 
the  windows,  which  rags  are  made  muddily  transparent  in  the 
night-season  by  feeble  lights  of  rush  or  cotton  dip  burning  dully 
in  the  close  air  of  the  inside.  As  Durdles  and  Jasper  come 
near,  they  are  addressed  by  an  inscribed  paper  lantern  over  the 
door,  setting  forth  the  purport  of  the  house.  They  are  also 
addressed  by  some  half-dozen  other  hideous  small  boys, — 
whether  twopenny  lodgers  or  followers  or  hangers-on  of  such, 
who  knows  ! — who,  as  if  attracted  by  some  carrion-scent  of 
Deputy  in  the  air,  start  into  the  moonlight,  as  vultures  might 
gather  in  the  desert,  and  instantly  fall  to  stoning  him  and  one 
another. 

"Stop,  you  young  brutes,"  cries  Jasper,  angrily,  ':  and  let  us 
go  by !  " 

This  remonstrance  being  received  with  yells  and  flying  stones, 
according  to  a  custom  of  late  years  comfortably  established 
among  the  police  regulations  of  our  English  communities,  where 
Christians  are  stoned  on  all  sides,  as  if  the  days  of  Saint  Stephen 
were  revived,  Durdles  remarks  of  the  young  savages,  with  some 
point,  that  "  they  haven't  got  an  object,"  and  leads  the  way  down 
the  lane. 

At  the  corner  of  the  lane,  Jasper,  hotly  enraged,  checks  his 


48  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

companion  and  looks  back.  All  is  silent.  Next  moment,  a 
comes  rattling  at  his  hat,  and  a  distant  yell  of  "Wake- 
Cock  !  Warning  !"  followed  by  a  crow,  as  from  some  infernally 
hatched  Chanticleer,  apprising  him  under  whose  victorious  fire 
Ik-  stands,  he  turns  the  corner  into  safety,  and  takes  Dnrdles 
home  :  Dnrdles  stumbling  among  the  litter  of  his  stony  yard  as 
if  lie  were  going  to  turn  headforemost  into  one  of  the  unfinished 
tombs. 

John  Jasper  returns  by  another  way  to  his  gate  house,  and, 
entering  softly  with  his  key,  finds  his  fire  still  burning.  He 
takes  from  a  locked  press  a  peculiar-looking  pipe,  which  he  fills, 
but  not  with  tobacco, — and  having  adjusted  the  contents  of  the 
bowl,  very  carefully,  with  a  little  instrument,  ascends  an  inner 
staircase  of  only  a  few  steps,  leading  to  two  rooms.  One  of 
these  is  his  own  sleeping-chamber,  the  other  is  his  nephew's. 
There  is  a  light  in  each. 

His  nephew  lies  asleep,  calm  and  untroubled.  John  Jasper 
stands  looking  down  upon  him,  his  unlighted  pipe  in  his  hand, 
for  some  time,  with  a  fixed  and  deep  attention.  Then,  hushing 
his  footsteps,  he  passes  to  his  own  room,  lights  his  pipe,  and 
delivers  himself  to  the  Spectres  it  invokes  at  midnight. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Philanthropy  in  Minor   Canon    Corner. 


| HE  Reverend  Septimus  Crisparkle  (Septimus,  because 
six  little  brother  Crisparkles  before  him  went  out,  one 
by  one,  as  they  were  born,  like  six  weak  little  rush- 
lights, as  they  were  lighted)  having  broken  the  thin 
morning  ice  near  Cloisterham  Weir  with  his  amiable  head,  much 
to  the  invigoration  of  his  frame,  was  now  assisting  his  circula- 
tion by  boxing  at  a  looking-glass  with  great  science  and  prowess. 
A  fresh  and  healthy  portrait  the  looking-glass  presented  of  the 
Reverend  Septimus,  feinting  and  dodging  with  the  utmost  art- 
fulness, and  hitting  out  from  the  shoulder  with  the  utmost 
straightness,  while  Ins  radiant  features  teemed  with  innocence, 
and  soft-hearted  benevolence  beamed  from  his  boxing-gloves. 

It  was  scarcely  breakfast-time  yet,  for  Mrs.  Crisparkle — 
mother,  not  wife,  of  the  Reverend  Septimus — was  only  just  down, 
and  waiting  for  the  urn.    Indeed,  the  Reverend  Septimus  left  off 


PHILANTHROPY  IN  MINOR   CANNON  CORNER.     49 

at  this  very  moment  to  take  the  pretty  old  lady's  entering  face 
between  his  boxing-gloves  and  kiss  it.  Having  done  so  with 
tenderness,  the  Reverend  Septimus  turned  to  again,  countering 
with  his  left,  and  putting  in  his  right,  in  a  tremendous  manner. 

"  I  say,  every  morning  of  my  life,  that  you'll  do  it  at  last, 
Sept,"  remarked  the  old  lady,  looking  on ;   "  and  so  you  will." 

"  Do  what,  Ma  dear?" 

"  Break  the  pier-glass,  or  burst  a  blood-vessel." 

"Neither,  please  God,  Ma  dear.  Here's  wind,  Ma.  Look 
at  this  !" 

In  a  concluding  round  of  great  severity,  the  Reverend  Sep- 
timus administered  and  escaped  all  sorts  of  punishment,  and 
wound  up  by  getting  the  old  lady's  cap  in  Chancery — such  is 
the  technical  term  used  in  scientific  circles  by  the  learned  in 
the  Noble  Art — with  a  lightness  of  touch  that  hardly  stirred  the 
lightest  lavender  or  cherry  riband  on  it.  Magnanimously  re- 
leasing the  defeated,  just  in  time  to  get  his  gloves  into  a  drawer, 
and  feign  to  be  looking  out  of  window  in  a  contemplative  state 
of  mind  when  a  servant  entered,  the  Reverend  Septimus  then 
gave  place  to  the  urn  and  other  preparations  for  breakfast. 
These  completed,  and  the  two  alone  again,  it  was  pleasant  to 
see  (or  would  have  been,  if  there  had  been  any  one  to  see  it, 
which  there  never  was)  the  old  lady  standing  to  say  the  Lord's 
Prayer  aloud,  and  her  son,  Minor  Canon  nevertheless,  standing 
with  head  bent  to  hear  it,  he  being  within  five  years  of  forty  : 
much  as  he  had  stood  to  hear  the  same  words  from  the  same 
lips  when  he  was  within  five  months  of  four. 

What  is  prettier  than  an  old  lady — except  a  young  lady — 
when  her  eyes  are  bright,  when  her  figure  is  trim  and  compact, 
when  her  face  is  cheerful  and  calm,  when  her  dress  is  as  the 
dress  of  a  china  shepherdess:  so  dainty  in  its  colours,  so  indi- 
vidually assorted  to  herself,  so  neatly  moulded  on  her  ?  Noth- 
ing is  prettier,  thought  the  good  Minor  Canon  frequently,  when 
taking  his  seat  at  table  opposite  his  long-widowed  mother.  Her 
thought  at  such  times  may  be  condensed  into  the  two  words 
that  oftenest  did  duty  together  in  all  her  conversations  :  "  My 
Sept!" 

They  were  a  good  pair  to  sit  breakfasting  together  in  Minor 
Canon  Corner,  Cloisterham.  For  Minor  Canon  Corner  was  a 
quiet  place  in  the  shadow  of  the  Cathedral,  which  the  cawing  of 
the  rooks,  the  echoing  footsteps  of  rare  passers,  the  sound  of 
die  Cathedral  bell,  or  the  roll  of  the  Cathedral  organ,  seemed 
to  render  more  quiet  than  absolute  silence.  Swaggering  fight- 
ing men  had  had  their  centuries  of  ramping  and  raving  about 


'50 


THE   MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 


Minor  Canon  Corner,  and  beaten  serfs  had  had  their  centuries 
of  drudging  and  dying  there,  and  powerful  monks  had  had  their 
centuries  of  being  sometimes  useful  and  sometimes  harmful 
there,  and  behold  they  were  all  gone  out  of  Minor  Canon  Cor- 
ner, and  so  much  the  better.  Perhaps  one  of  the  highest  uses 
of  their  ever  having  been  there,  was,  that  there  might  be  left 
behind  that  blessed  air  of  tranquillity  which  pervaded  Minor 
Canon  Corner,  and  that  serenely  romantic  state  of  mind — pro- 
ductive for  the  most  part  of  pity  and  forbearance — which  is  en- 
gendered by  a  sorrowful  story  that  is  all  told,  or  a  pathetic  play 
that  is  played  out. 

Red-brick  walls  harmoniously  toned  down  in  colour  by  time, 
strong-rooted  ivy,  latticed  windows,  panelled  rooms,  big  oaken 
beams  in  little  places,  and  stone-walled  gardens  where  annual 
fruit  yet  ripened  upon  monkish  trees,  were  the  principal  sur- 
roundings of  pretty  old  Mrs.  Ciisparkle  and  the  Reverend 
Septimus  as  they  sat  at  breakfast. 

"And  what,  Ma  dear,"  inquired  the  Minor  Canon,  giving 
proof  of  a  wholesome  and  vigorous  appetite,  "does  the  letter 
say  ?  " 

The  pretty  old  lady,  after  reading  it,  had  just  laid  it  down 
upon  the  breakfast-cloth.     She  handed  it  over  to  her  son. 

Now  the  old  lady  was  exceedingly  proud  of  her  bright  eyes 
being  so  clear  that  she  could  read  writing  without  spectacles. 
Her  son  was  also  so  proud  of  the  circumstance,  and  so  duti- 
fully bent  on  her  deriving  the  utmost  possible  gratification  from 
it,  that  he  had  invented  the  pretence  that  he  himself  could  not 
read  writing  without  spectacles.  Therefore  he  now  assumed  a 
pair,  of  grave  and  prodigious  proportions,  which  not  only  seri- 
ously inconvenienced  his  nose  and  his  breakfast,  but  seriously 
impeded  his  perusal  of  the  letter.  For  he  had  the  eyes  of  a  mi- 
croscope and  a  telescope  combined,  when  they  were  unas- 
sisted. 

"  It's  from  Mr.  Honeythunder,  of  course,"  said  the  old  lady, 
folding  her  arms. 

"  Of  course,"  assented  her  son.     He  then  lamely  read  on  : — 

"  Haven  of  Philanthropy, 
"  Chief  Offices,  London,  Wednesday. 
"  Dear  Madam, — 

"  '  1  write  in  the — '  In  the  what's  this  ?  What  does  he 
write  in  ?  " 

"  In  the  chair,"  said  the  old  lady. 

The  Reverend  Septimus  took  off  his  spectacles,  that  ha 
flight  see  her  face,  as  he  exclaimed,-— 


PHILANTHROPY   IN  MINOR    CANNON  CORNER.      51 

"  Why,  what  should  he  write  in  ?  " 

"Bless  me,  bless  me,  Sept,"  returned  the  old  lad}',  "you 
don't  see  the  context  !      Give  it  back  to  me,  my  dear." 

"  Glad  to  get  his  spectacles  off  (for  they  always  made  his 
eyes  water),  her  son  obeyed,  murmuring  that  his  sight  for  read- 
ing manuscript  got  worse  and  worse  daily. 

"  '  I  write,'  "  his  mother  went  on,  reading  very  perspicuously 
and  precisely,  "  '  from  the  chair,  to  which  I  shall  probably  be 
confined  for  some  hours.'  " 

Septimus  looked  at  the  row  of  chairs  against  the  wall,  with 
a  half-protesting  and  half-appealing  countenance. 

"  'We  have,'  "  the  old  lady  read  on  with  a  little  extra  em- 
phasis, "  '  a  meeting  of  our  Convened  Chief  Composite  Com- 
mittee of  Central  and  District  Philanthropists,  at  our  Head 
Haven  as  above  ;  and  it  is  their  unanimous  pleasure  that  I 
take  the  chair.' " 

Septimus  breathed  more  freely,  and  muttered,  "Oh!  If  he 
comes  to  that,  let  him." 

"  'Not  to  lose  a  day's  post,  I  take  the  opportunity  of  a  long 
report  being  read,  denouncing  a  public  miscreant — '  " 

"  It  is  a  most  extraordinary  thing,"  interposed  the  gentle 
Minor  Canon,  laying  down  his  knife  and  fork  to  rub  his  ear  in 
a  vexed  manner,  "that  these  Philanthropists  are  always  de- 
nouncing somebody.  And  it  is  another  most  extraodinary 
thing  that  they  are  always  so  violently  Hush  of  miscreants  !  " 

"  '  Denouncing  a  public  miscreant  ! '  " — the  old  lady  re- 
sumed, "  '  to  get  our  little  affair  of  business  off  my  mind.  I 
have  spoken  with  my  two  wards,  Neville  and  Helena  Landless, 
on  the  subject  of  their  defective  education,  and  they  give  in  to 
the  plan  proposed  ;  as  I  should  have  taken  good  care  they  did, 
whether  they  liked  it  or  not.'  " 

"  And  it  is  another  most  extraordinary  thing,"  remarked  the 
Minor  Canon  in  the  same  tone  as  before,  "  that  these  Philan- 
thropists are  so  given  to  seizing  their  fellow-creatures  by  the 
scruff  of  the  neck,  and  (as  one  may  say)  bumping  them  into 
the  path  of  peace. — I  beg  your  pardon,  Ma,  dear,  for  interrupt- 
ing." 

"'Therefore,  dear  Madam,  you  will  please  prepare  your 
son,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Septimus,  to  expect  Neville,  as  an  inmate  to 
be  read  with,  on  Monday  next.  On  the  same  day  Helena  will 
accompany  him  to  Cloisterham,  to  take  up  her  quarters  at  the 
Nuns'  House,  the  establishment  recommended  by  yourself  and 
son  jointly.  Please  likewise  to  prepare  for  her  reception  and 
tuition  there.     The  terms  in  both  cases  are  understood  to  be 


52  THE   MYSTERY   OF  ED IV IN  DROOD. 

exactly  as  stated  to  me  in  writing  by  yourself,  when  I  opened 
a  correspondence  with  you  on  this  subject,  after  the  honour  of 
being  introduced  to  you  at  your  sister's  house  in  town  here. 
With  compliments  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Septimus,  1  am,  Dear 
Madam,    your    affectionate    brother    (In    Philanthropy),  Luke 

HONEYTHUNDER.'  " 

■'  Well,  Ma,"  said  Septimus,  after  a  little  more  rubbing  of  his 
ear,  '•  we  must  try  it.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  we  have 
room  for  an  inmate,  and  that  1  have  time  to  bestow  upon  him, 
and  inclination  too.  I  must  confess  to  feeling  rather  glad  that 
he  is  not  Mr.  Honeythunder  himself.  Though  that  seems 
wretchedly  prejudiced, — does  it  not? — for  I  never  saw  him. 
Is  he  a  large  man,  Ma?" 

"  1  should  call  him  a  large  man,  my  dear,"  the  old  lady  re- 
plied, after  some  hesitation,  "but  that  his  voice  is  so  much 
larger." 

"  Than  himself?  " 

"  Than  anybody." 

'■'  Hah  !  "  said  Septimus.  And  finished  his  breakfast  as  if  the 
flavour  of  the  Superior  Family  Souchong,  and  also  of  the  ham 
and  toast  and  eggs,  were  a  little  on  the  wane. 

Mrs.  Crisparkle's  sister,  another  piece  of  Dresden  china,  and 
matching  her  so  neatly  that  they  would  have  made  a  delightful 
pair  of  ornaments  for  the  two  ends  of  any  capacious  old-fash- 
ioned chimney-piece,  and  by  right  should  never  have  been  seen 
apart,  was  the  childless  wife  of  a  clergyman  holding  Corpora- 
tion preferment  in  London  City.  Mr.  Honeythunder,  in  his 
public  character  of  Professor  of  Philanthropy,  had  come  to 
know  Mrs.  Crisparlde  during  the  last  rematching  of  the  china 
ornaments  (in  other  words,  during  her  last  annual  visit  to  her 
sister),  after  a  public  occasion  of  a  philanthropic  nature,  when 
certain  devoted  orphans  of  tender  years  had  been  glutted  with 
plum  buns,  and  plum])  bumptiousness.  These  were  all  the 
antecedents  known  in  Minor  Canon  Corner  of  the  coming 
pupils. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  agree  with  me,  Ma,"  said  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle,  after  thinking  the  matter  over,  "that  the  first  thing  to 
be  done,  is.  to  put  these  young  people  as  much  at  their  ease  as 
possible.  There  is  nothing  disinterested  in  the  notion,  because 
we  cannot  be  at  our  ease  with  them  unless  they  are  at  their 
ease  with  us.  Now,  Jasper's  nephew  is  down  here  at  present: 
and  like  takes  to  like,  and  youth  takes  to  youth.  He  is  a  cor- 
dial young  fellow,  and  we  will  have  him  to  meet  the  brother 


PHILANTHROPY  IN  MINOR    CANNON  CORNER. 


53 


and  sister  at  dinner.  That's  three.  We  can't  think  of  asking 
him,  without  asking  Jasper.  That's  four,  Add  Miss  Twinkle- 
ton  and  the  fairy  bride  that  is  to  l>--j,  and  that's  six.  Add  our 
two  selves,  and  that's  eight.  Would  eight  at  a  friendly  dinner 
at  all  put  you  out,  Ma?" 

"Nine  would,  Sept,"  returned  the  old  lady,  visibly  nervous. 

"My  dear  Ma,  I  particularize  eight." 

"The  exact  size  of  the  table  and  the  room,  my  dear." 

So  it  was  settled  that  way  ;  and  when  Mr.  Crisparkle  called 
with  his  mother  upon  Miss  Twinkleton,  to  arrange  for  the  re- 
ception of  Miss  Helena  Landless  at  the  Nuns'  House,  the  two 
other  invitations  having  reference  to  that  establishment  were 
proffered  and  accepted.  Miss  Twinkleton  did,  indeed,  glance 
at  the  globes,  as  regretting  that  they  were  not  formed  to  be 
taken  out  into  society  ;  but  became  reconciled  to  leaving  them 
behind.  Instructions  were  then  despatched  to  the  Philanthro- 
pist for  the  departure  and  arrival,  in  good  time  for  dinner,  of 
Air.  Neville  and  Miss  Helena  ;  and  stock  for  soup  became  fra- 
grant in  the  air  of  Minor  Canon  Corner. 

In  those  days  there  was  no  railway  to  Cloisterham,  and  Mr. 
Sapsea  said  there  never  would  be.  Mr.  Sapsea  said  more  ;  he 
said  there  never  should  be.  And  yet,  marvellous  to  consider, 
it  has  come  to  pass,  in  these  days,  that  Express  Trains  don't 
think  Cloisterham  worth  stopping  at,  but  yell  and  whirl  through 
it  on  their  larger  errands,  casting  the  dust  off  their  wheels  as  a 
testimony  against  its  insignificance.  Some  remote  fragment  of 
Main  Line  to  somewhere  else,  there  was,  which  was  going  to 
ruin  the  Money  Market  if  it  failed,  and  Church  and  State  if  it 
succeeded,  and  (of  course)  the  Constitution,  whether  or  no 
but  even  that  had  already  so  unsettled  Cloisterham  traffic,  that 
the  traffic,  deserting  the  high-road,  came  sneaking  in  from  an 
unprecedented  part  of  the  country  by  a  back  stable-way,  for 
many  years  labelled  at  the  corner  :   "  Beware  of  the  Dog." 

To  this  ignominious  avenue  of  approach,  Mr.  Crisparkle  re- 
paired, awaiting  the  arrival  of  a  short  squat  omnibus,  with  a 
disproportionate  heap  of  luggage  on  the  roof, — like  a  little  Ele- 
phant with  infinitely  too  much  Castle, — which  was  then  the 
daily  service  between  Cloisterham  and  external  mankind.  As* 
this  vehicle  lumbered  up,  Air.  Crisparkle  could  hardly  see  any- 
thing else  of  it  for  a  large  outside  passenger  seated  on  the  box, 
with  his  elbows  squared,  and  his  hands  on  his  knees,  compress- 
ing the  driver  into  a  most  uncomfortably  small  compass,  and 
glowing  about  him  with  a  strongly  marked  face. 


54 


THE  MYSTERY  OE  EDWIN  DROOD. 


"  Is  this  Cloisterham  ?  "  demanded  the  passenger,  in  a  tre- 
mendous voice. 

"  It  is,"  replied  the  driver,  rubbing  himself  as  if  he  ached,  after 
throwing  the  reins  to  the  ostler.  "  And  I  never  was  so  glad  to 
see  it." 

"  Tell  your  master  to  make  his  box  sea*;  wider  then,"  re- 
turned the  passenger.  "Your  master  is  morally  bound — and 
ought  to  be  legally,  under  ruinous  penalties — to  provide  for  the 
comfort  of  his  fellow-man." 

The  driver  instituted,  with  the  palms  of  his  hands,  a  super- 
ficial perquisition  into  the  state  of  his  skeleton  ;  which  seemed 
to  make  him  anxious. 

"  Have  I  sat  upon  you  ?  "  asked  the  passenger. 

"You  have,"  said  the  driver,  as  if  he  didn't  like  it  at  all. 

"  Take  that  card,  my  friend." 

"I  think  I  won't  deprive  you  on  it,"  returned  the  driver,  cast 
ing  his  eyes  over  it  with  no  great  favour,  without  taking  it. 
"  What's  the  good  of  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  Be  a  Member  of  that  Society,"  said  the  passenger. 

"  What  shall  I  get  by  it  ?  "  asked  the  driver. 

"  Brotherhood,"  returned  the  passenger,  in  a  ferocious  voice. 

"Thankee,"  said  the  driver,  very  deliberately,  as  he  got 
down  ;  "  my  mother  was  contented  with  myself,  and  so  am  I. 
I  don't  want  no  brothers." 

"But  you  must  have  them,"  replied  the  passenger,  also  de- 
scending, "  whether  you  like  it  or  not.      I  am  your  brother." 

"  I  say  !  "  expostulated  the  driver,  becoming  more  chafed  in 
temper  ;  "  not  too  fur  !     The  worm  will  when — 

But  here  Mr.  Crisparkle  interposed,  remonstrating  aside  in  a 
friendly  voice,  "  Joe,  Joe,  Joe  X  Don't  forget  yourself,  Joe.  my 
good  fellow  !  "  and  then,  when  Joe  peaceably  touched  his  hat, 
accosting  the  passenger  with,  "Mr.  Honeythunder  ?  " 

"  That  is  my  name,  sir." 

"  My  name  is  Crisparkle." 

"  Reverend  Mr.  Septimus  ?  Glad  to  see  you,  sir.  Neville 
and  Helena  are  inside.  Having  a  little  succumbed  of  late, 
under  the  pressure  of  my  public  labours,  I  thought  I  would  take 
a  mouthful  of  fresh  air,  and  come  down  with  them,  and  return  at 
night.  So  you  are  the  Reverend  Mr.  Septimus,  are  you?"  sur- 
veying him  on  the  whole  with  disappointment,  and  twisting  3 
double  eyeglass  by  its  riband,  as  if  he  were  roasting  it ;  but  not 
otherwise  using  it.      "  Hah  !     I  expected  to  see  you  older  sir." 

"  I  hope  you  will,"  was  the  good-humoured  reply. 

"  Eh  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Honeythunder. 


PHILANTHROPY  IN  MINOR    CANNON  CORNER. 


55 


"  Only  a  poor  little  joke.     Not  worth  repeating." 

"Joke?  Ay;  I  never  see  a  joke,"  Mr.  Honeythunder  frown- 
ing'y  retorted.  '•  A  joke  is  wasted  upon  me,  sir.  Where  are 
they  ?  Helena  and  Neville,  come  here  !  Mr.  Crisparkle  has 
come  down  to  meet  you." 

An  unusually  handsome,  lithe  young  fellow,  and  an  unusually 
handsome,  lithe  girl ;  much  alike  ;  both  very  dark,  and  very  rich 
in  colour  :  she  of  almost  the  gypsy  type  ;  something  untamed 
about  them  both;  a  certain  air  upon  them  of  hunter  and  Im 
ress  ;  yet  withal  a  certain  air  of  being  the  objects  of  the  chase, 
rather  than  the  followers.  Slender,  supple,  quick  of  eye  and 
limb  ;  half  shy,  half  defiant ;  fierce  of  look  ;  an  indefinable  kind 
of  pause  coming  and  going  on  their  whole  expression  both  cf 
face  and  form,  which  might  be  equally  likened  to  the  pause  be- 
fore a  crouch,  or  a  bound.  The  rough  mental  notes  made  in 
the  first  five  minutes  by  Mr.  Crisparkle  would  have  read  thus, 
verbatim. 

He  invited  Mr.  Honeythunder  to  dinner,  with  a  troubled 
mind  (for  the  discomfiture  of  the  dear  old  china  shepherdess  lay 
heavy  on  it),  and  gave  his  arm  to  Helena  Landless.  Both  she 
and  her  brother,  as  they  walked  all  together  through  the  an- 
cient streets,  took  great  delight  in  what  he  pointed  out  of  the 
Cathedral  and  the  Monastery-ruin,  and  wondered — so  his  notes 
ran  on — much  as  if  they  were  beautiful  barbaric  captives  brought 
from  some  wild  tropical  dominion.  Mr.  Honeythunder  walked 
in  the  middle  of  the  road,  shouldering  the  natives  out  of  his  way. 
and  loudly  developing  a  scheme  he  had,  for  making  a  raid  on 
all  the  unemployed  persons  in  the  United  Kingdom,  laying  them 
every  one  by  the  heels  in  jail,  and  forcing  them,  on  pain  of 
prompt  extermination,  to  become  philanthropists. 

Mrs.  Crisparkle  had  need  of  her  own   share  of  philanthopy 
when  she  beheld  this  very  large  and  very  loud  excrescence  on 
the  little  party.     Always  something  in  the  nature  of  a  L'oil  upon 
the  face'  of  society,  Mr.  Honeythunder  expanded  into  an  inflam- 
matory Wen    in    Minor  Canon  Corner.      Though    it  was  not 
literally  true,  as  was  facetiously  charged  against  him  by  public 
unbelievers,  that  he  called  aloud  to  his  fellow-creatures,  "  Curs£L 
your  souls  and  bodies,  come  here  and  be  blessed!"  stilL/hisj 
philanthropy  was  of  that  gunpowderous  sort  that  the  difference 
between  it  and  animosity  was  hard  to  determine.     You  were  to  J 
abolish  military  force,  but  you  were  first  to  bring  all  command-/ 
ing  officers  who  had  done  their  duty  to  trial  by  court-martial  1 
for  that  offence,  and  shoot  them.     You  were  to  abolish  war,  J 
but  were  to   make    converts    by  making  war  upon  them,  and.' 


56  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

;harging  them  with  loving  war  as  the  apple  of  their  eye.  You 
,vere  to  have  no  capital  punishment,  but  were  first  to  sweep  off 
:he  face  of  the  earth  all  legislators,  jurists,  and  judges  who  were  of 
he  contrary  opinion.  You  were  to  have  universal  concord, 
iind  wcve  toget  it  by  eliminating  all  the  people  who  wouldn't,  or 
^conscientiously  couldn't  be  concordant.  You  were  to  love  your 
brother  as  yourself,  but  after  an  indefinite  interval  of  maligning 
him  (very  much  as  if  you  hated  him),  and  calling  him  all  man- 
ner of  names.  Above  all  things,  you  were  to  do  nothing  in 
private,  or  on  your  own  account.  You  were  to  go  to  the  offices 
of  the  Haven  of  Philanthropy,  and  put  your  name  down  as 
a  member  and  a  Professing  Philanthropist.  Then  you  were 
to  pay  up  your  subscription,  get  your  card  of  membership  and 
your  riband  and  medal,  and  were  evermore  to  live  upon  a 
platform,  and  evermore  to  say  what  Mr.  Honeythunder  said, 
and  what  the  treasurer  said,  and  what  the  sub-treasurer  said, 
and  what  the  Committee  said,  and  what  the  sub-Committee  said, 
and  what  the  Secretary  said,  and  what  the  Vice  Secretary  said. 
And  this  was  usually  said  in  the  unanimously  carried  resolu- 
tion under  hand  and  seal,  to  the  effect:  "That  this  assembled 
Body  of  Professing  Philanthropists  views,  with  indignant  scorn 
and  contempt,  not  unmixed  with  utter  detestation  and  loathing 
abhorrence," — in  short,  the  baseness  of  all  those  who  do  not 
j  belong  to  it,  and  pledges  itself  to  make  as  many  obnoxious  state- 
t  ments  as  possible  about  them,  without  being  at  all  particular  as 
I  to  facts. 
"The  dinner  was  a  most  doleful  breakdown.  The  philanthropist 
deranged  the  symmetry  of  the  table,  sat  himself  in  the  way  of 
the  waiting,  blocked  up  the  thoroughfare,  and  drove  Mr.  Tope 
(who  assisted  the  parlour-maid)  to  the  verge  of  distraction  by 
passing  plates  and  dishes  on,  over  his  own  head.  Nobody  could 
talk  to  anybody,  because  he  held  forth  to  everybody  at  once,  as 
if  the  company  had  no  individual  existence,  but  were  a  Meeting. 
lie  impounded  the  Reverend  Mr.  Septimus,  as  an  official  per- 
sonage to  be  addressed,  or  kind  of  human  peg  to  hang  his 
oratorical  hat  on,  and  fell  into  the  exasperating  habit,  common 
among  such  orators,  of  impersonating  him  as  a  wicked  and  weak 
opponent.  Thus,  he  would  ask,  "  And  will  you,  sir,  now 
stultify  yourself  by  telling  me  " — and  so  forth,  when  the  inno- 
cent man  had  not  opened  his  lips,  nor  meant  to  open  them. 
Or  he  would  say,  "  N.ow  see,  sir,  to  what  a  position  you  are  re- 
duced. I  will  leave  you  no  escape.  After  exhausting  all  the 
resources  of  fraud  and  falsehood,  during  years  upon  years  ;  aftei 
exhibiting  a  combination  of  dastardly   meanness  with  ensan. 


MORE    CONFIDENCES  THAN   ONE.  57 

guined  daring,  such  as  the  world  lias  not  often  witnessed  :  you 
have  now  the  hypocrisy  to  bend  the  knee  before  the  most  tie- 
graded  of  mankind,  and  to  sue  and  whine  and  howl  for  mercy  !  " 
Whereat  the  unfortunate  Minor  Canon  would  look,  in  part 
perplexed  :  while  his  worthy  mother  sat  bridling,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  and  the  remainder  of  the  party  lapsed  into  a  sort  of 
gelatinous  state,  in  which  there  was  no  flavour  or  solidity,  and 
very  little  resistance. 

But  the  gush  of  philanthropy  that  burst  forth  when  the  depart- 
sure  of  Mr.  Honeythunder  began  to  impend  must  have  been 
highly  gratifying  to  the  feelings  of  that  distinguished  man.  His 
coffee  was  produced  by  the  special  activity  of  Mr.  Tope,  a  full 
hour  before  he  wanted  it.  Mr.  Crisparkle  sat  with  his  watch  in 
his  hand,  for  about  the  same  period,  lest  he  should  overstay  his 
time.  The  four  young  people  were  unanimous  in  believing  that 
the  Cathedral  clock  struck  three  quarters,  when  it  actually  struck 
but  one.  Miss  Twinkleton  estimated  the  distance  to  the  omni- 
bus at  hve-and-twenty  minutes'  walk,  when  it  was  really  five. 
The  affectionate  kindness  of  the  whole  circle  hustled  him  into  his 
great-coat,  and  shoved  him  out  into  the  moonlight,  as  if  he  were 
a  fugitive  traitor  with  whom  they  sympathized,  and  a  troop  of 
horse  were  at  the  back  door.  Mr.  Crisparkle  and  his  new 
charge,  who  took  him  to  the  omnibus,  were  so  fervent  in  their 
apprehensious  of  his  catching  cold,  that  they  shut  him  up  in  it 
instantly  and  left  him,  with  still  half  an  hour  to  spare. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

More  Confidences  Th@n  One. 

KNOW  very  little  of  that  gentleman,  sir."  said  Neville 
to  the  Minor  Canon  as  they  turned  back. 

"  You    know    very  little    of  your   guardian  ? "    the 
Minor  Canon  repeated. 
"  Almost  nothing." 
"  How  came  he — " 

"  To  be  my  guardian  ?    I'll  tell  you,  sir.     I  suppose  you  know 
that  we  come  (my  sister  and  I)  from  Ceylon  ?" 
"  Indeed,  no." 

"  I  wonder  at  that.     We  lived  with  a  step-father  there.     Our 
mother  died  there,  when  we  were  little  children.     We  have  had 
3* 


58  THE   MYSTERY   OE  EDWIN  DROOD. 

a  wretched  existence.  She  made  him  our  guardian,  and  he  was 
a  miserly  wretch  who  grudged  us  food  to  eat,  and  clothes  to 
wear.  At  his  death,  he  passed  us  over  to  this  man  ;  for  no 
better  reason  that  1  know  of,  than  his  being  a  friend  or  connec- 
tion of  his,  whose  name  was  always  in  print  and  catching  his 
attention." 

"  That  was  lately,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Quite  lately,  sir.  This  step-father  of  ours  was  a  cruel  brute 
as  well  as  a  grinding  one.  It  was  well  he  died  when  he  did,  or 
I  might  have  killed  him." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  stopped  short  in  the  moonlight  and  looked  at 
bis  hopeful  pupil  in  consternation. 

"  I  surprise  you,  sir  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  quick  change  to  a  sub- 
missive manner. 

"  You  shock  me  ;    unspeakably  shock  me." 

The  pupil  hung  his  head  for  a  little  while,  as  they  walked  on, 
and  then  said,  "  You  never  saw  him  beat  your  sister.  I  have 
seen  him  beat  mine,  more  than  once  or  twice,  and  I  never  for- 
got it." 

"  Nothing,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "  not  even  a  beloved  and 
beautiful  sister's  tears  under  dastardly  ill-usage,"  he  became  less 
severe,  in  spite  of  himself,  as  his  indignation  rose,  "could  justify 
those  horrible  expressions  that  you  used." 

"  I  am  sorry  1  used  them,  and  especially  to  you,  sir.  I  beg 
to  recall  them.  But  permit  me  to  set  you  right  on  one  point. 
You  spoke  of  my  sister's  tears.  My  sister  would  have  let  him 
tear  her  to  pieces,  before  she  would  have  let  him  believe  that  he 
could  make  her  shed  a  tear." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  reviewed  those  mental  notes  of  his,  and  was 
neither  at  all  surprised  to  hear  it,  nor  at  all  disposed  to  question  it. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  think  it  strange,  sir," — this  was  said  in  a 
hesitating  voice, — "  thai  I  should  so  soon  ask  you  to  allow  me 
to  confide  in  you,  and  to  have  the  kindness  to  hear  a  word  or 
two  from  me  in  my  defence  ?  " 

"Defence?"  Mr.  Crisparkle  repeated.  "You  are  not  on 
your  defence,  Mr.  Neville." 

"  1  think  I  am,  sir.  At  least  I  know  I  should  be,  if  you  were 
better  acquainted  with  my  character." 

"Well,  Mr.  Neville,"  was  the  rejoinder.  "  What  if  you  leave 
me  to  find  it  out  ?  " 

"  Since  it  is  your  pleasure,  sir,"  answered  the  young  man, 
with  a  quick  change  in  his  manner  to  sullen  disappointment, — 
"  since  it  is  your  pleasure  to  check  me  in  my  impulse,  I  must 
submit." 


MORE    COXFIDEXCES  THAN  OXE. 


59 


There  was  that  in  the  tone  of  this  short  speech  which  made 
the  conscientious  man  to  whom  it  was  addressed  uneasy.  It 
hinted  to  him  that  he  might,  without  meaning  it,  turn  aside  a 
trustfulness  beneficial  to  a  misshapen  young  mind  and  perhaps 
to  his  own  power  of  directing  and  improving  it.  They  were 
within  sight  of  the  lights  in  his  windows,  and  he  stopped. 

'•  Let  us  turn  back  and  take  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down,  Mr. 
Neville,  or  you  may  not  have  time  to  finish  what  you  wish  to  sav 
to  me.  You  are  hasty  in  thinking  that  I  mean  to  check  you. 
Quite  the  contrary.     I  invite  your  confidence." 

"  You  have  invited  it,  sir,  without  knowing  it,  ever  since  I 
came  here.  I  say  '  ever  since,'  as  if  I  had  been  here  a  week  ! 
The  truth  is,  we  came  here  (my  sister  and  I)  to  quarrel  with  you 
and  affront  you,  and  break  away  again." 

"Really?"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  at  a  dead  loss  for  anything 
>  say. 

••  You  see,  we  could  not  know  what  you  were  beforehand,  sir  ; 
could  we  ?  " 

"  Clearly  not,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"  And  having  liked  no  one  else  with  whom  we  have  ever  been 
brought  into  contact,  we  had  made  up  our  minds  not  to  like 

"Really?"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle  again. 

"But  we  do  like  you,  sir,  and  we  see  an  unmistakable  dif- 
ference between  your  house  and  your  reception  of  us,  and  any- 
thing else  we  have  ever  known.  This, — and  my  happening  to 
be  alone  with  you, — and  everything  around  us  seeming  so  quiet 
and  peaceful  after  Mr.  Honey  thunder's  departure, — and  Cloister- 
ham  being  so  old  and  grave  and  beautiful,  with  the  moon  shin- 
ing on  it, — these  things  inclined  me  to  open  my  heart." 

"  I  quite  understand,  Mr.  Neville.  And  it  is  salutary  to  lis- 
ten to  such  influences." 

'•  In  describing  my  own  imperfections,  sir,  I  must  ask  you  not 
to  suppose  that  I  am  describing  my  sister's.  She  has  come  out 
of  the  disadvantages  of  our  miserable  life  as  much  better  than  I 
am  as  that  Cathedral  tower  is  higher  than  those  chimneys." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  in  his  own  breast  was  not  so  sure  of  this. 

"  I  have  had,  sir,  from  my  earliest  remembrance,  to  suppress 
a  deadly  and  bitter  hatred.  This  has  made  me  secret  and  re- 
vengeful. I  have  been  always  tyrannically  held  down  by  the 
strong  hand.  This  has  driven  me,  in  my  weakness,  to  the  re- 
source of  being  false  and  mean.  1  have  been  stinted  of  educa- 
tion, liberty,  money,  dress,  the  very  necessaries  of  life,  the  com- 
monest pleasures  of  childhood,  the  commonest  possessions  of 


60  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

youth.  This  has  caused  me  to  be  utterly  wanting  in  I  don't 
know  what  emotions,  or  remembrances,  or  good  instincts,— -I 
have  not  even  a  name  for  the  thing,  you  see  ! — that  you  have 
had  to  work  upon  in  other  young  men  to  whom  you  have  been 
accustomed.'' 

"  This  is  evidently  true.  But  this  is  not  encouraging,"  thought 
Mr.  Crisparkle  as  they  turned  again. 

"  And  to  finish  with,  sir  :  1  have  been  brought  up  among  ab- 
ject and  servile  dependants,  of  an  inferior  race,  and  1  may 
easily  have  contracted  some  affinity  with  them.  Sometimes,  I 
don't  know  but  that  it  may  be  a  drop  of  what  is  tigerish  in  their 
blood." 

"As  in  the  case  of  that  remark  just  now,"  thought  Mr. 
Crisparkle. 

"  In  a  last  word  of  reference  to  my  sister,  sir  (we  are  twin 
children),  you  ought  to  know,  to  her  honour,  that  nothing  in  our 
misery  ever  subdued  her,  though  it  often  cowed  me.  When 
we  ran  away  from  it  (we  ran  away  four  times  in  six  years,  to  be 
soon  brought  back  and  cruelly  punished),  the  flight  was  always 
of  her  planning  and  leading.  Each  time  she  dressed  as  a  boy, 
and  showed  the  daring  of  a  man.  I  take  it  we  were  seven 
years  old  when  we  first  decamped;  but  I  remember,  when  I 
lost  the  pocketdenife  with  which  she  was  to  hive  cut  her  hair 
short,  how  desperately  she  tried  to  tear  it  out,  or  bite  it  off.  I 
have  nothing  further  to  say,  sir,  except  that  I  hope  you  will 
bear  with  me  and  make  allowance  for  me." 

"Of  that,  Mr.  Neville,  you  maybe  sure,"  returned  the 
Minor  Canon.  "1  don't  preach  more  than  I  can  help,  and  I 
will  not  repay  your  confidence  with  a  sermon.  But  I  entreat 
you  to  bear  in  mind,  very  seriously  and  steadily,  that  if  1  am 
to  do  you  any  good,  it  can  only  be  with  your  own  assistance  ; 
and  that  you  can  only  render  that,  efficiently,  by  seeking  aid 
from    Heaven." 

"  I  will  try  to  do  my  part,  sir." 

"And,  Mr.  Neville,  1  will  try  to  do  mine.  Here  is  my  hand 
on  it.      May  (rod  bless  our  endeavours  !  " 

They  were  now  standing  at  his  house  door,  and  a  cheerful 
sound  of  voices  and  laughter  was  heard  within. 

"  We  will  take  one  more  turn  before  going  in,"  said  Mr. 
Crisparkle.  "for  1  want  to  ask  you  a  question.  When  you 
said  you  were  in  a  changed  mind  concerning  me,  you  spoke, 
not  only  for  yourself,  but  for  your  sister  too." 

"  Undoubtedly  1  did,  sir." 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Neville,  but  I  think  you  have  had  no  op- 


MORE    CONFIDENCES  THAN  ONE.  6 1 

portunify  of  communicating  with  your  sister  since  I  met  you. 
Mr.  Honeythunder  was  very  eloquent  ;  but  perhaps  1  may 
venture  to  say,  without  ill-nature,  that  he  rather  monopolized 
the  occasion.  May  you  not  have  answered  for  your  sister 
without  sufficient  warrant  ?" 

Neville  shook  his  head  with  a  proud  smile. 

"You  don't  know,  sir,  yet,  what  a  complete  understanding 
can  exist  between  my  sister  and  me,  though  no  spoken  word — ■ 
perhaps  hardly  as  much  as  a  look — may  have  passed  between 
us.  She  not  only  feels  as  I  have  described,  but  she  very  well 
knows  that  I  am  taking  this  opportunity  of  speaking  to  you 
both  for  her  and  for  myself." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  looked  in  his  face,  with  some  incredulity ; 
but  his  face  expressed  such  absolute  and  firm  conviction  of  the 
truth  of  what  he  said,  that  Mr.  Crisparkle  looked  to  the  pave- 
ment, and  mused,  until  they  came  to  his  door  again. 

"  I  will  ask  for  one  more  turn,  sir,  this  time,"  said  the  young 
man  with  a  rather  heightened  colour  rising  in  his  face.  "  But 
for  Mr.  Honeythunder' s — I  think  you  called  it  eloquence,  sir?" 
(somewhat  slyly.) 

"I — yes,  I  called  it  eloquence,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"  But  for  Mr.  Honeythunder' s  eloquence,  I  might  have  had 
no  need  to  ask  you  what  1  am  going  to  ask  you.  This  Mr. 
Edwin  Drood,  sir  :   I  think  that's  the  name  ?  " 

"  Quite  correct,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle.      "  D  r-double-o-d." 

"  Does  he — or  did  he — read  with  you,  sir?" 

"  Never,  Mr.  Neville.  He  comes  here  visiting  his  relation, 
Mr.  Jasper." 

"  Is  Miss  Bud  his  relation,  too,  sir?" 

("Now,  why  should  he  ask  that,  with  sudden  supercilious- 
ness!" thought  Mr.  Crisparkle.)  Then  he  explained,  aloud, 
what  he  knew  of  the  little  story  of  their  betrothal. 

"Oh!  That's  it,  is  it?"  said  the  young  man.  "I  under- 
stand Ills  air  of  proprietorship,  now  !  " 

This  was  said  so  evidently  to  himself,  or  to  anybody  rather 
than  Mr.  Crisparkle,  that  the  latter  instinctively  felt  as  if  to 
notice  it  would  be  almost  tantamount  to  noticing  a  passage  in 
a  letter  which  he  had  read  by  chance  over  the  writer's  shoulder. 
A  moment  afterwards  they  re-entered  the  house. 

Mr.  Jasper  was  seated  at  the  piano  as  they  came  into  his 
drawing-room,  and  was  accompanying  Miss  Rosebud  while  she 
sang,  it  was  a  consequence  of  his  playing  the  accompani- 
ment without  notes,  and  of  her  being  a  heedless  little  creature 
very  apt  to  go  wrong,  that  he  followed  her  lips  most  attentively, 


62  THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

with  his  eyes  as  well  as  hands  ;  carefully  and  softly  hinting  the 
key-note  from  true  to  time.  Standing  with  an  arm  drawn 
round  her,  but  with  a  face  far  more  intent  on  Mr.  Jasper  than 
on  her  singing,  stood  Helena,  between  whom  and  her  brother 
an  instantaneous  recognition  passed,  in  winch  Mr.  Crisparkle 
saw,  or  thought  lie  saw,  the  understanding  that  had  been  spoken 
of  flash  out.  Mr.  Neville  then  took  his  admiring  station,  lean- 
ing against  the  piano,  opposite  the  singer  ;  Mr.  Crisparkle  sat 
down  by  the  china  shepherdess;  Edwin  Drood  gallantly  furled 
and  unfurled  Miss  Twinkleton's  fan;  and  that  lady  passively 
claimed  .that  sort  of  exhibitor's  proprietorship  in  the  accom- 
plishment on  view,  which  Mr.  Tope,  the  Verger,  daily  claimed 
in  the  Cathedral  service. 

The  song  went  on.  It  was  a  sorrowful  strain  of  parting,  and 
the  fresh  young  voice  was  very  plaintive  and  tender.  As 
Jasper  watched  the  pretty  lips,  and  ever  and  again  hinted  the 
one  note,  as  though  it  were  a  low  whisper  from  himself,  the 
voice  became  less  steady,  until  all  at  once  the  singer  broke 
into  a  burst  of  tears,  and  shrieked  out,  with  her  hands  over  her 
eyes,   "  I  can't  bear  this  !     I  am  frightened  !     Take  me  away  !  " 

With  one  swift  turn  of  her  lithe  figure,  Helena  laid  the  little 
beauty  on  a  sofa,  as  if  she  had  never  caught  her  up.  Then,  on 
one  knee  beside  her,  and  with  one  hand  upon  her  rosy  mouth, 
while  with  the  other  she  appealed  to  all  the  rest,  Helena  said 
to  them,  "It's  nothing;  it's  all  over;  don't  speak  to  her  for 
one  minute,  and  she  is  well !  " 

Jasper's  hands  had,  in  the  same  instant,  lifted  themselvr/s 
from  the  keys,  and  were  now  poised  above  them,  as  though  he 
waited  to  resume.  In  that  attitude  he  yet  sat  quiet  :  not  even 
looking  round,  when  all  the  rest  had  changed  their  places  and 
were  reassuring  one  another, 

"Pussy's  not  used  to  an  audience;  that's  the  fact,"  said 
Edwin  Drood.  "  She  got  nervous,  and  couldn't  hold  out. 
Besides,  Jack,  you  are  such  a  conscientious  master,  and  re- 
quire so  much,  that  I  believe  you  make  her  afraid  of  you.  No 
wonder." 

"  No  wonder,"  repeated  Helena. 

"  There,  Jack,  you  hear  !  You  would  be  afraid  of  him  under 
similar  circumstances,  wouldn't  you,  Miss  Eandless?" 

"  Not  under  any  circumstances,"  returned  Helena. 

Jasper  brought  down  his  hands,  looked  over  his  shoulder, 
ai  d  begged  to  thank  Miss  Landless  for  her  vindication  of  his 
character.  Then  he  fell  to  dumbly  playing,  without  striking 
the  notes,  while  his  little  pupil  was  taken  to  an  open  window 


MORE    CONFIDENCES   THAN  ONE. 


63 


for  air,  and  was  otherwise  petted  and  restored.  When  she  was 
brought  back,  his  place  was  empty.  "Jack's  gone,  Pussy," 
Edwin  told  her.  "  I  am  more  than  half  afraid  he  didn't  like  to 
be  charged  with  being  the  Monster  who  had  frightened  yon." 
But  she  answered  never  a  word,  and  shivered,  as  if  they  had 
made  her  a  little  too  cold. 

Miss  Twinkleton  now  opining  that  indeed  these  were  late 
hours,  Mrs.  Crisparkle,  for  finding  ourselves  outside  the  walls 
of  the  Nuns'  House,  and  that  we  who  undertook  the  formation 
of  the  future  wives  and  mothers  of  England  (the  last  words  in 
a  lower  voice,  as  requiring  to  be  communicated  in  confidence) 
were  really  bound  (voice  coming  up  again)  to  set  a  better  ex- 
ample than  one  of  rakish  habits,  wrappers  were  put  in  requisi- 
tion, and  the  two  young  cavaliers  volunteered  to  see  the  ladies 
home.  It  was  soon  done,  and  the  gate  of  the  Nuns'  House 
closed  upon  them. 

The  boarders  had  retired,  and  only  Mrs.  Tisher  in  solitary 
vigil  awaited  the  new  pupil.  Her  bedroom  being  within  Rosa's, 
very  little  introduction  or  explanation  was  necessary,  before 
she  was  placed  in  charge  of  her  new  friend,  and  left  for  the 
night. 

"This  is  a  blessed  relief,  my  dear,"  said  Helena.  "  I  have 
been  dreaming  all  day,  that  1  should  be  brought  to  bay  at  this 
time." 

"  There  are  not  many  of  us,"  returned  Rosa,  "  and  we  are 
good-natured  girls  ;  at  least  the  others  are ;  I  can  answer  for 
them." 

"  I  can  answer  for  you,"  laughed  Helena,  searching  the 
lovely  little  face  with  her  dark  fiery  eyes,  and  tenderly  caressing 
the  small  figure.     "You  will  be  a  friend  to  me,  won't  you?" 

"  I  hope  so.  But  the  idea  of  my  being  a  friend  to  you 
seems  too  absurd,  though." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  am  such  a  mite  of  a  thing,  and  you  are  so  womanly 
and  handsome.  You  seem  to  have  resolution  and  power 
enough  to  crush  me.  I  shrink  into  nothing  by  the  side  of  your 
presence  even." 

"  I  am  a  neglected  creature,  my  dear,  unacquainted  with  all 
accomplishments,  sensitively  conscious  that  I  have  everything 
to  learn,  and  deeply  ashamed  to  own  my  ignorance." 

"  And  yet  you  acknowledge  everything  to  me  !  "   said  Rosa. 

"  My  pretty  one,  can  1  help  it  ?  There  is  a  fascination  in 
you. " 

"Oi!     Is  there,   though?"  pouted  Rosa,   half  in  jest  and 


64  THE  MYSTERY  OE  EDWIN  BROOD. 

half  in   earnest.     "What  a  pity   Master   Eddy  doesn't  feel  it 

more  ! " 

Of  course  her  relations  towards  that  young  gentleman  had 
been  ahead}-  imparted,  in  Minor  Canon  Comer. 

"Why,  surely  he  must  love  you  with  all  his  heart  !"  cried 
Helena,  with  an  earnestness  that  threatened  to  blaze  into  feroc- 
ity if  he  didn't. 

"Eh?  O,  well,  I  suppose  he  does,"  said  Rosa,  pouting 
again  ;  "  I  am  sure  I  have  no  right  to  say  he  doesn't.  Perhaps 
it's  niv  fault.  Perhaps  I  am  not  as  nice  to  him  as  I  ought  to 
be.      I  don't  think  J  am.      But  it  is  so  ridiculous  !  " 

Helena's  eyes  demanded  what  was. 

"  We  are,"  said  Rosa,  answering  as  if  she  had  spoken. 
"  We  are  such  a  ridiculous  couple.  And  we  are  always  quar- 
relling." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  we  both  know  we  are  ridiculous,  my  dear!  "  Rosa 
gave  that  answer  as  if  it  were  the  most  conclusive  answer  in 
the  world. 

"  Helena's  masterful  look  was  intent  upon  her  face  for  a 
few  moments,  and  then  she  impulsively  put  out  both  her  hands 
and  said, 

"You  will  be  my  friend  and  help  me  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  my  dear,  I  will,"  replied  Rosa,  in  a  tone  of  affec- 
tionate childishness  that  went  straight  and  true  to  her  heart; 
"  I  will  be  as  good  a  friend  as  such  a  mite  of  a  thing  can  be 
to  such  a  noble  creature  as  you.  And  be  a  friend  to  me, 
please;  for  I  don't  understand  myself;  and  I  want  a  friend 
who  can  understand  me,  very  much  indeed." 

Helena  Landless  kissed  her,  and,  retaining  both  her  hands, 
said, 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Jasper?" 

Rosa  turned  aside  her  head  in  answering,  "  Eddy's  uncle, 
and  my  music-master." 

"  You  do  not  love  him  ?  " 

"  Ugh  !  "  She  put  her  hands  up  to  her  face,  aud  shook  with 
fear  or  horror. 

"  You  know  that  he  loves  you  ?  " 

"  O,  don't,  don't,  don't!"  cried  Rosa,  dropping  on  her 
knees,  and  clinging  to  her  new  resource.  "  Don't  tell  me  of 
it  !  He  terrifies  me.  .  He  haunts  my  thoughts,  like  a  dreadful 
ghost.  I  feel  that  I  am  never  safe  from  him.  I  feel  as  if  he 
could  pass  in  through   the  wall   when   he  is  spoken  of."     She 


MORE    CONFIDENCES    THAN  ONE.  65 

actually  did  look  round,  as  if  she  dreaded  to  see  him  standing 
in  the  shadow  behind  her. 

"  Try  to  tell  me  more  about  it,  darling." 

"Yes,  I  will,  I  will.  Because  you  are  so  strong.  But  hold 
me  the  while,  and  stay  with  me  afterwards." 

"  My  child  !  You  speak  as  if  he  had  threatened  you  in  some 
dark  way." 

"  He  has  never  spoken  to  me  about — that.     Never." 

"  What  has  he  done  ?  " 

•'  He  has  made  a  slave  of  me  with  his  looks.  He  has  forced 
me  to  understand  him,  without  his  saying  a  word  ;  and  he  has 
forced  me  to  keep  silence,  without  his  uttering  a  threat.  When 
I  play,  he  never  moves  his  eyes  from  my  hands.  When  1  sing, 
he  never  moves  his  eyes  from  my  lips.  When  he  corrects  me, 
and  strikes  a  note,  or  a  chord,  or  plays  a  passage,  he  himself  is 
in  the  sounds,  whispering  that  he  pursues  me  as  a  lover,  and 
commanding  me  to  keep  his  secret.  I  avoid  his  eyes,  but  he 
forces  me  to  see  them  without  looking  at  them.  Even  when 
a  glaze  comes  over  them  (which  is  sometimes  the  case),  and 
he  seems  to  wander  away  into  a  frightful  sort  of  dream,  in 
which  he  threatens  most,  he  obliges  me  to  know  it,  and  to 
know  that  he  is  sitting  close  at  my  side,  more  terrible  to  me 
then  than  ever." 

"What  is  this  imagined  threatening,  pretty  one?  What  is 
threatened  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  have  never  even  dared  to  think  or  won- 
der what  it  is." 

"  And  was  this  all,  to-night  ?  " 

"  This  was  all ;  except  thai  to-night  when  he  watched  my  lips 
so  closely  as  I  was  singing,  besides  feeling  terrified,  1  felt 
ashamed  and  passionately  hurt.  It  was  as  if  he  kissed  me, 
and  I  couldn't  bear  it,  but  cried  out.  You  must  never  breathe 
this  to  any  one.  Eddy  is  devoted  to  him.  But  you  said 
tonight  that  you  would  not  be  afraid  of  him,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, and  that  gives  me — who  am  so  much  afraid  ef 
him — courage  to  tell  only  you.  Hold  me  !  Stay  with  me  !  I 
am  too  frightened  to  be  left  by  myself." 

The  lustrous  gypsy-face  drooped  over  the  clinging  arms  and 
bosom,  and  the  wild  black  hair  fell  down  protectingly  over  the 
childish  form.  There  was  a  slumbering  gleam  of  the  in  lire 
intense  dark  eyes,  though  they  were  then  softened  with  com- 
passion and  admiration.  Let  whomsoever  it  most  concerned 
look  well  to  it. 


66  THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DKOOD. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Daggers  Drawn. 

j|HE  two  young  men,  having  seen  the  damsels,  their 
charges,  enter  the  court-yard  of  the  Nuns'  House,  and 
finding  themselves  coldly  stared  at  by  the  brazen 
door-plate,  as  if  the  battered  old  beau  with  the  glass  in 
his  eye  were  insolent,  look  at  one  another,  look  along  the  per- 
spective of  the  moonlit  street,  and  slowly  walk  away  together. 

"  Do  you  stay  here  long,  Mr.  Drood  ?  "  says  Neville. 

"Not  this  time,"  is  the  careless  answer.  "  I  leave  for  Lon- 
don again  to-morrow.  But  1  shall  be  here,  off  and  on,  until 
next  Midsummer ;  then  I  shall  take  my  leave  of  Cloisterham, 
and  England  too  •  for  many  a  long  day,  I  expect." 

"  Are  you  going  abroad  ?  " 

"Going  to  wake  up  Egypt  a  little,"  is  the  condescending 
answer. 

"  Are  you  reading?" 

"Reading!"  repeats  Edwin  Drood,  with  a  touch  of  con- 
tempt. "  No.  Doing,  working,  engineering.  My  small  pat- 
rimony was  left  a  part  of  the  capital  of  the  Firm  I  am  with, 
by  my  father,  a  former  partner;  and  I  am  a  charge  upon  the 
Firm  until  I  come  of  age  ;  and  then  I  step  into  my  modest 
share  in  the  concern.  Jack — you  met  him  at  dinner — is,  until 
then,  my  guardian  and  trustee." 

"  1  heard  from  Mr.  Crisparkle  of  your  other  good  fortune." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  my  other  good  fortune  ?  " 

Neville  has  made  his  remark  in  a  watchfully  advancing,  and 
yet  furtive  and  shy  manner,  very  expressive  of  that  peculiar 
air  already  noticed,  of  being  at  once  hunter  and  hunted. 
Edwin  has  made  his  retort  with  an  abruptness  not  at  all  polite. 
They  stop  and  interchange  a  rather  heated  look. 

"  I  hope,"  says  Neville,  "  there  is  no  offence,  Mr.  Drood,  in 
my  innocently  referring  to  your  betrothal?" 

"  By  George  !  "  cries  Edwin,  leading  on  again  at  a  somewhat 
quicker  pace.  "Everybody  in  this  chattering  old  Cloisterham 
refers  to  it.  I  wonder  no  public-house  has  been  set  up,  \vi;h 
my  portrait  for  the  sign  of  the  Betrothed's  Head.  Or  Pussy's 
portrait.     One  or  the  other." 

"  1  am  not  accountable  for  Mr.  Crisparkle's  mentioning  the 
matter  to  me,  quite  openly,"  Neville  begins. 


DAGGERS  DRAWN.  fy 

"  No  ;  that's  true  ;  you  are  not,"  Edwin  Drood  assents. 

"  But,"  resumes  Neville,  "  I  am  accountable  for  mentioning 
it  to  you.  And  1  did  so,  on  the  supposition  that  you  could  not 
fail  to  be  highly  proud  of  it." 

Now,  there  are  these  two  curious  touches  of  human  nature 
working  the  secret  springs  of  this  dialogue.  Neville  Landless 
is  already  enough  impressed  4jy  little  Rosebud  to  feel  indignant  V 
that  Edwin  Drood  (far  below  her)  should  hold  his  prize  so 
lightly.  Edwin  Drood  is  already  enough  impressed  by  Helena, 
to  feel  indignant  that  Helena's  brother  (far  below  her)  should 
dispose  of  him  so  coolly,  and  put  him  out  of  the  way  so  en- 
tirely. 

However  the  last  remark  had  better  be  answered.  So,  says 
Edwin, 

'  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Neville  "  (adopting  that  mood  of  address 
from  Mr.  Crisparkle),  "that  what  people  are  proudest  of  they 
usually  talk  most  about  ;  I  don't  know  either,  that  what  they 
are  proudest  of  they  most  like  other  people  to  talk  about.  But 
I  live  a  busy  life,  and  I  speak  under  correction  by  you  readers, 
who  ought  to  know  everything,  and  I  dare  say  do." 

By  this  time  they  had  both  become  savage  ;  Mr.  Neville  out 
in  the  open  ;  Edwin  Drood  under  the  transparent  cover  of  a 
popular  tune,  and  a  stop  now  and  then  to  pretend  to  admire 
picturesque  effects  in  the  moonlight  before  him. 

"  It  does  not  seem  to  me  very  civil  in  yon,"  remarks  Neville, 
at  length,  "  to  reflect  upon  a  stranger  who  comes  here,  not 
having  had  your  advantages,  to  try  to  make  up  for  lost  time. 
But,  to  be  sure,  /was  not  brought  up  in  'busy  life,'  and  my 
ideas  of  civility  were  formed  among  Heathens." 

"  Perhaps  the  best  civility,  whatever  kind  of  people  we  are 
brought  up  among,"  retorts  Edwin  Drood,  "  is  to  mind  our 
own  business.  If  you  will  set  me  that  example,  I  promise  to 
follow  it." 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  take  a  great  deal  too  much  upon 
yourself,"  is  the  angry  rejoinder  ;  "  and  that  in  the  part  of  the 
world  I  come  from,  you  would  be  called  to  account  for  it  ?" 

"  By  whom,  for  instance?  "  asks  Edwin  Drood,  coming  to  a 
halt,  and  surveying  the  other  with  a  look  of  disdain. 

But  here  a  startling  right  hand  is  laid  on  Edwin's  shoulder, 
and  Jasper  stands  between  them.  For  it  would  seem  that  he, 
too,  had  strolled  round  by  the  Nuns'  House,  and  has  come  up 
behind  them  on  the  shadowy  side  of  the  road. 

"  Ned,  Ned,  Ned  !  "  he  says.  "  We  must  have  no  more  of  this. 
I  don't  like  this.     I  have  overheard  high  words  between  you  two. 


68  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

Remember,  my  dear  boy,  you  are  almost  in  the  position  of  host 
to-night.  You  belong,  as  it  were,  to  the  place,  and  in  a  man- 
ner represent  it  towards  a  stranger.  Mr.  Neville  is  a  stranger, 
and  you  should  respect  the  obligations  of  hospitality.  And, 
Mr.  Neville,"  laying  his  left  hand  on  the  inner  shoulder  of  that 
young  gentleman,  and  thus  walking  on  between  them,  hand  to 
shoulder  on  either  side,  "you  will  pardon  me  ;  but  1  appeal  to 
you  to  govern  your  temper  too.  Now,  what  is  amiss  ?  But 
why  ask  !  Let  there  be  nothing  amiss,  and  the  question  is 
superfluous.  We  are  all  three  on  a  good  understanding,  are 
we  not  ?" 

After  a  silent  struggle  between  the  two  young  men  who  shall 
speak  last,  Edwin  Drood  strikes  in  with,  "  So  far  as  1  am  con- 
cerned, Jack,  there  is  no  anger  in  me."' 

"Nor  in  me,"  says  Neville  Landless,  though  not  so  freely, 
or  pedraps  so  carelessly.  "  But  if  Mr.  Drood  knew  all  that  lies 
behind  me,  far  away  from  here,  he  might  know  better,  how  it  is 
that  sharp-edged  words  have  sharp  edges  to  wound  me." 

"Perhaps,"  says  Jasper,  in  a  smoothing  manner,  "we  had 
better  not  qualify  our  good  understanding.  We  had  better  not 
say  anything  having  the  appearance  of  a  remonstrance  or  con- 
dition ;  it  might  not  seem  generous.  Frankly  and  freely,  you 
see  there  is  no  anger  in  Ned.  Frankly  and  freely,  there  is  no 
anger  in  you,  Mr.  Neville  ?  " 

"  None  at  ail,  Mr.  Jasper."  Still,  not  quite  so  frankly  or  so 
freely  ;  or,  be  it  said  once  again,  not  quite  so  carelessly  per- 
haps. 

"  All  over  then  !  Now,  my  bachelor  gate-house  is  a  few 
yards  from  here,  and  the  heater  is  on  the  fire  and  the  wine  and 
glasses  are  on  the  table,  and  it  is  not  a  stone's  throw  from 
Minor  Canon  Corner.  Ned,  you  are  up  and  away  to-morrow. 
We  will  carry  Mr.  Neville  in  with  us,  to  take  a  stirrup-cup." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  Jack." 

"And  with  all  mine,  Mr.  Jasper."  Neville  feels  it  impossi- 
ble to  say  less,  but  would  rather  not  go.  He  has  an  impression 
upon  him  that  he  has  lost  hold  of  his  temper  ;  feels  that  Edwin 
Drood's  coolness,  so  far  from  being  infectious,  makes  him  red- 
hot. 

Mr.  Jasper,  still  walking  in  the  centre,  hand  to  shoulder  on 
either  side,  beautifully  turns  the  Refrain  of  a  drinking-song,  and 
they  all  go  up  to  his  rooms.  There,  the  first  object  visible, 
when  he  adds  the  light  of  a  lamp  to  that  of  the  fire,  is  the  por- 
trait over  the  chimney-piece.  It  is  not  an  object  calculated  to 
improve  the  understanding  between  the  two  young  men,  as  rather 


DAGGERS  DRAWN.  6g 

awkwardly  reviving  the  subject  of  their  difference.  Accord- 
ingly, they  both  glance  at  it  consciously,  but  say  nothing. 
Jasper,  however  (who  would  appear  from  his  conduct  to  have 
gained  but  an  imperfect  clew  to  the  cause  of  their  late  high 
words),  directly  calls  attention  to  it. 

"  You  recognize  that  picture,  Mr.  Neville  ? "  shading  the 
lamp  to  throw  the  light  upon  it. 

"  I  recognize  it,  but  it  is  far  from  flattering  the. original." 

"  O,  you  are  hard  upon  it  !  It  was  done  by  Ned,  who  made 
me  a  present  of  it." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,  Mr.  Drood."  Neville  apologizes,  with 
a  real  intention  to  apologize:  "if  I  had  known  I  was  in  the 
artist's  presence — " 

"  O,  a  joke,  sir,  a  mere  joke,"  Edwin  cuts  in,  with  a  provok- 
ing yawn.  "A  little  humouring  of  Pussy's  points!  I'm  going 
to  paint  her  gravely,  one  of  these  days,  if  she's  good." 

The  air  of  leisurely  patronage  and  indifference  with  which 
this  is  said,  as  the  speaker  throws  himself  back  in  a  chair  and 
clasps  his  hands  at  the  back  of  his  head,  as  a  rest  for  it,  is  very 
exasperating  to  the  excitable  and  excited  Neville.  Jasper  looks 
observantly  from  the  one  to  the  other,  slightly  smiles,  and  turns 
his  back  to.  mix  a  jug  of  mulled  wine  at  the  tire.  It  seems  to 
require  much  mixing  and  compounding. 

"I  suppose,  Mr.  Neville,"  says  Edwin,  quick  to  resent  the 
indignant  protest  against  himself  in  the  face  of  young  Landless, 
which  is  fully  as  visible  as  the  portrait,  or  the  fire,  or  the  lamp, 
— "  I  suppose  that  if  you  painted  the  picture  of  your  lady- 
love— " 

"  I  can't  paint,"  is  the  hasty  interruption. 

"  That's  your  misfortune,  and  not  your  fault.  You  would  if 
you  could.  But  if  you  could,  I  suppose  you  would  make  her 
(no  matter  what  she  was  in  reality)  Juno,  Minerva,  Diana,  and 
Venus,  all  in  one.     Eh  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  lady  love,  and  I  can't  say." 

"  If  I  were  to  try  my  hand,"  says  Edwin,  with  a  boyish 
boastfulness  getting  up  in  him,  "  on  a  portrait  of  Miss  Landless, 
— in  earnest,  mind  you  ;  in  earnest, — you  should  see  what  I 
could  do  !  " 

"  My  sister's  consent  to  sit  for  it  being  first  got,  I  suppose  ? 
As  it  never  will  be  got,  I  am  afraid  I  shall  never  see  what  you 
can  do.     I  must  bear  the  loss." 

Jasper  turns  round  from  the  fire,  fills  a  large  goblet  glass  for 
Neville,  fills  a  large  goblet  glass  for  Edwin,  and  hands  each 
his  own ;  then  fills  for  himself,  saying, 


7o  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Neville,  we  are  to  drink  to  my  Nephew,  Ned. 
As  it  is  his  foot  that  is  in  the  stirrup — metaphorically — our 
stirrup-cup  is  to  be  devoted  to  him.  Ned,  my  dearest  fellow, 
my  love  !  " 

Jasper  sets  the  example  of  nearly  emptying  his  glass,  and 
Neville  follows  it.  Edwin  Drood  says,  "Thank  you  both  very 
much,"  and  follows  the  double  example. 

"Look  at  him  !"  cries  Jasper,  stretching  out  his  hand  ad- 
miringly and  tenderly,  though  rallyingly  too.  "  See  where  he 
lounges  so  easily,  Mr.  Neville  !  The  world  is  all  before  him 
where  to  choose.  A  life  of  stirring  work  and  interest,  a  life 
of  change  and  excitement,  a  life  of  domestic  ease  and  love! 
Look  at  him  !  " 

Edwin  Drood' s  face  has  become  quickly  and  remarkably 
flushed  by  the  wine  ;  so  has  the  face  of  Neville  Landless.  Ed- 
win still  sits  thrown  back  in  his  chair,  making  that  rest  of 
clasped  hands  for  his  head. 

"  See  how  little  he  heeds  it  all  !  "  Jasper  proceeds  in  a  ban- 
tering vein.  "  It  is  hardly  worth  his  while  to  pluck  the  golden 
fruit  that  hangs  ripe  on  the  tree  for  him.  And  yet  consider  the 
contrast,  Mr.  Neville.  You  and  I  have  no  prospect  of  stirring 
work  and  interest,  or  of  change  and  excitement,  or  of  domestic 
ease  and  love.  You  and  I  have  no  prospect  (unless  you  are 
more  fortunate  than  I  am,  which  may  easily  be)  but  the  tedious, 
unchanging  round  of  this  dull  place." 

"  Upon  my  soul,  Jack,"  says  Edwin,  complacently,  "  I  feel 
quite  apologetic  for  having  my  way  smoothed  as  you  describe. 
But  you  know  what  I  know,  Jack,  and  it  may  not  be  so  very 
easy  as  it  seems,  after  all.  May  it,  Pussy  ?"  To  the  portrait, 
with  a  snap  of  his  thumb  and  linger.  "  A Ve  have  got  to  hit  it 
off  yet ;  haven't  we,  Pussy?     You  know  what  1  mean,  Jack." 

His  speech  has  become  thick  and  indistinct.  Jasper,  quiet 
and  self-possessed,  looks  to  Neville,  as  expecting  his  answer  or 
comment.  When  Neville  speaks,  his  speech  is  also  thick  and 
indistinct. 

•"  It  might  have  been  better  for  Mr.  Drood  to  have  known 
some  hardships,"  he  says,  defiantly. 

"Pray,"  retorts  Edwin,  turning  merely  his  eyes  in  that  direc- 
tion,— "  pray  why  might  it  have  been  better  for  Mr.  Drood  to 
have  known  some  hardships  ?  " 

"  Ay,"  Jasper  assents  with  an  air  of  interest ;  "  let  us  know 
why?" 

"  Because  they  might  have  made  him  more  sensible,"  says 


DAGGERS  DRAWN. 


71 


Neville,  "  of  good  fortune  that  is  not  by  any  means  necessarily 
the  result  of  his  own  merits." 

Mr.  Jasper  quickly  looks  to  his  nephew  for  his  rejoinder. 

"  Have  you  known  hardships,  may  I  ask  ? "  says  Edwin 
Drood,  sitting  upright. 

Mr.  Jasper  quickly  looks  to  the  other  for  his  retort. 

"  I  have." 

"  And  what  have  they  made  you  sensible  of?" 

Mr.  Jasper's  play  of  eyes  between  the  two  holds  good 
throughout  the  dialogue,  to  the  end. 

"  I  have  told  you  once  before  to-night." 

"  You  have  done  nothing  of  the  sort." 

"  I  tell  you  I  have.  That  you  take  a  great  deal  too  much 
upon  yourself." 

"  You  added  something  else  to  that,  if  I  remember  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  did  say  something  else." 

"  Say  it  again." 

"  I  said  that  in  the  part  of  the  world  I  came  from  you  would 
be  called  to  account  for  it." 

"Only  there?"  cries  Edwin  Drood,  with  a  contemptuous 
laugh.  "  A  long  way  off,  I  believe  ?  Yes  ;  I  see  !  That  part 
of  the  world  is  at  a  safe  distance." 

"  Say  here,  then,"  rejoins  the  other,  rising  in  a  fury.  "  Say 
anywhere  !  Your  vanity  is  intolerable,  your  conceit  is  beyond 
endurance,  you  talk  as  if  you  were  some  rare  and  precious 
prize,  instead  of  a  common  boaster.  You  are  a  common  fellow, 
and  a  common  boaster." 

"  Pooh,  pooh,"  says  Edwin  Drood,  equally  furious,  but  more 
collected  ;  "how  should  you  know?  You  may  know  a  black 
common  fellow,  or  a  black  common  boaster,  when  you  see  him 
(and  no  doubt  you  have  a  large  acquaintance  that  way)  ;  but 
you  are  no  judge  of  white  men." 

This  insulting  allusion  to  his  dark  skin  infuriates  Neville  to 
that  violent  degree  that  he  flings  the  dregs  of  his  wine  at  Edwin 
Drood,  and  is  in  the  act  of  flinging  the  goblet  after  it,  when  his 
arm  is  caught  in  the  nick  of  time  by  Jasper. 

"  Ned,  my  dear  fellow  !  "  he  cries  in  a  loud  voice  ;  "  I  entreat 
you,  I  command  you  to  be  still  !  "  There  has  been  a  rush  of 
all  the  three,  and  a  clattering  of  glasses  and  overturning  of  chairs. 
"  Mr.  Neville,  for  shame  !  Give  this  glass  to  me.  Open  your 
hand,  sir.     I  will  have  it  !  " 

But  Neville  throws  him  off,  and  pauses  for  an  instant,  in  a 
raging  passion,  with  the  goblet  yet  in  his  uplifted  hand.  Then, 
he  dashes  it  down  under  the  grate,  with  such  force  that  the 


y2  THE  MYSTERY  OF  KDIV1N  DROOD. 

broken  splinters  fly  out  again  in  a  shower  ;  and  he  leaves  the 
house. 

When  he  first  emerges  into  the  night  air,  nothing  around  him 
is  still  or  steady  :  nothing  around  him  shows  like  what  it  is  ;  he 
only  knows  that  he  stands  with  a  bare  head  in  the  midst  of  a 
blood-red  whirl,  wailing  to  be  struggled  with,  and  to  struggle  to 
the  death. 

But,  nothing  happening,  and  the  moon  looking  down  upon 
him  as  if  he  were  dead  after  a  tit  of  wrath,  he  holds  his  steam- 
hammer  beating  head  and  heart,  and  staggers  away.  Then  lie 
becomes  half  conscious  of  having  heard  himself  bolted  and 
barred  out,  like  a  dangerous  animal  ;  and  thinks  what  shall  he 
do? 

Some  wildly  passionate  ideas  of  the  river  dissolve  under  the 
spell  of  the  moonlight  on  the  Cathedral  and  the  graves,  and  the 
remembrance  of  his  sister,  and  the  thought  of  what  he  owes  to 
the  good  man  who  has  but  that  very  day  won  his  confidence 
and  given  him  his  pledge.  He  repairs  to  Minor  Canon  Corner, 
and  knocks  softly  at  the  door. 

It  is  Mr.  Crisparkle's  custom  to  sit  up  last  of  the  early  house- 
hold, very  softly  touching  his  piano  and  practising  his  favourite 
parts  in  concerted  vocal  music.  The  south  wind  that  goes 
where  it  lists,  by  way  of  Minor  Canon  Corner  on  a  still  night, 
is  not  more  subdued  than  Mr.  Crisparkle  at  such  times,  regard- 
ful of  the  slumbers  of  the  China  shepherdess. 

Mis  knock  is  immediately  answered  by  Mr.  Crisparkle  him- 
self. When  he  opens  the  door,  candle  in  hand,  his  cheerful  face 
falls,  and  disappointed  amazement  is  in  it. 

"  Mr.  Neville  !     In  this  disorder  !     Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"  1  have  been  to  Mr.  Jasper's,  sir.     With  his  nephew." 

li  Come  in." 

The  Minor  Canon  props  him  by  the  elbow  with  a  strong  hand 
(in  a  strictly  scientific  manner,  worthy  of  his  morning  trainings), 
and  turns  him  into  his  own  little  book-room,  and  shuts  the  door. 

"  I  have  begun  ill,  sir.     I  have  begun  dreadfully  ill." 

"  Too  true.      You  are  not  sober,  Mr.  Neville." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  not,  sir,  though  I  can  satisfy  you  at  an- 
other time  that  I  have  had  very  little  indeed'to  drink,  and  that 
it  overcame  me  in  the  strangest  and  most  sudden  manner." 

'•  Mr.  Neville,  Mr.  Neville,"  says  the  Minor  Canon,  shaking 
his  head  with  a  sorrowful  smile,  "  I  have  heard  that  said  be- 
fore." 

"  I  think— my  mind  is  much  confused,  but  I  think — it  is 
equally  true  of  Mr.  Jasper's  nephew,  sir." 


DAGGERS  DRAWN. 


73 


"  Very  likely,"  is  the  dry  rejoinder. 

"  We  quarrelled,  sir.  He  insulted  me  most  grossly.  He  had 
heated  that  tigerish  blood  I  told  you  of  to-day,  before  then." 

"  Mr.  Neville,"  rejoins  the  Minor  Canon,  mildly,  but  firmly, 
"  I  request  you  not  to  speak  to  me  with  that  clenched  right 
hand.      Unclench  it,  if  you  please." 

"  He  goaded  me,  sir,"  pursues  the  young  man,  instantly 
obeying,  "beyond  my  power  of  endurance.  I  cannot  say 
whether  or  no  he  meant  it  at  first,  but  he  did  it.  He  certainly 
meant  it  at  last,  in  short,  sir,"  with  an  irrepressible  outburst, 
"in  the  passion  into  which  he  lashed  me,  I  would  have  cut  him 
down  if  I  could,  and  I  tried  to  do  it." 

"  You  have  clenched  that  hand  again,"  is  Mr.  Crisparkle's 
quiet  commentary. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

"  You  know  your  room,  for  I  showed  it  to  you  before  dinner ; 
but  I  will  accompany  you  to  it  once  more.  Your  arm,  if  you 
please.     Softly,  for  the  house  is  all  abed." 

Scooping  his  hand  into  the  same  scientific  elbow-rest  as  be- 
fore, and  backing  it  up  with  the  inert  stiength  of  his  arm,  as 
skilfully  as  a  Police  Expert,  and  with  an  apparent  repose  quite 
unattainable  by  novices,  Mr.  Crisparkle  conducts  his  pupil  to 
the  pleasant  and  orderly  old  room  prepared  for  him.  Arrived 
there,  the  young  man  throws  himself  into  a  chair,  and  flinging 
his  arms  upon  his  reading-table,  rests  his  head  upon  them  with 
an  air  of  wretched  self-reproach. 

The  gentle  Minor  Canon  has  had  it  in  his  thoughts  to  leave 
the  room  without  a  word.  But,  looking  round  at  the  door,  and 
seeing  this  dejected  figure,  he  turns  back  to  it,  touches  it  with 
a  mild  hand,  and  says,  "  Good  night !  "  A  sob  is  his  only  ac- 
knowledgment. He  might  have  had  many  a  worse  :  perhaps 
could  have  had  few  better. 

Another  soft  knock  at  the  outer  door  attracts  his  attention 
a.s  he  goes  down-stairs.  He  opens  it  to  Mr.  Jasper,  holding 
m  his  hand  the  pupil's  hat. 

"  We  have  had  an  awful  scene  with  him,"  says  Jasper,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  Has  it  been  so  bad  as  that?" 

"  Murderous  !  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  remonstrates,  "  No,  no,  no.  Do  not  use 
such  strong  words." 

"  He  might  have  laid  my  dear  boy  dead  at  my  feet.  It  is 
no  fault  of  his  that  he  did  not.  But  that  I  was,  through  the 
4 


74 


THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


mercy  of  God,  swift  and  strong  with  him,  he  would  have  cut 
him  down  on  my  hearth." 

The  phrase  smites  home. 

"Ah  !,"  thinks  Mr.  Crisparkle.      "  His  own  words  !" 

"  Seeing  what  I  have  seen  to-night,  and  hearing  what  I  have 
heard,"  adds  Jasper,  with  great  earnestness,  "I  shall  never 
know  peace  of  mind  when  there  is  danger  of  those  two  coming 
together  with  no  one  else  to  interfere.  It  was  horrible.  There 
is  something  of  the  tiger  in  his  dark  blood." 

'■!  Ah  !  "  thinks  Mr.  Crisparkle.      "  So  he  said." 

"You,  my  dear  sir,"  pursues  Jasper,  taking  his  hand,  "  even 
you  have  accepted  a  dangerous  charge." 

"You  need  have  no  fear  for  me,  Jasper,"  returns  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle, wi;h  a  quiet  smile.      "I  have  none  for  myself." 

"I  have  none  for  myself,"  returns  Jasper,  with  an  emphasis 
on  the  last  pronoun,  "  because  I  am  not,  nor  am  I  in  the  way 
of  being,  the  object  of  his  hostility.  But  you  may  be,  and  my 
dear  boy  has  been.      Good  night  !  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  goes  in,  with  the  hat  that  has  so  easily,  so 
almost  imperceptibly,  acquired  the  right  to  be  hung  up  in  his 
hall,  hangs  it  up,  and  goes  thoughtfully  to  bed. 


CHAPTER    IX. 


Birds  in  the  Bush. 


flOSA,  having  no  relation  that  she  knew  of  in  the  world, 
had,  from  the  seventh  year  of  her  age,  known  no  home 
but  the  Nuns'  House,  and  no  mother  but  Miss  Twin- 
kleton.  Her  remembrance  of  her  own  mother  was  of 
a  pretty  little  creature  like  herself  (not  much  older  than  her- 
self, it  seemed  to  her),  who  hail  been  brought  home  in  her 
father's  arms,  drowned.  The  fata!  accident  had  happened  at  a 
party  of  pleasure.  Every  fold  and  colour  in  the  pretty  summer 
dress,  and  even  the  long  wet  hair,  with  scattered  petals  of 
ruined  flowers  still  clinging  to  it,  as  the  dead  young  figure;  in 
its  sad,  sad  beauty  lay  upon  the  bed,  were  fixed  indel  biy  in 
Rosa's  recollection.  .  So  were  the  wild  despair  and  the  subse- 
quent bowed-down  grief  of  her  poor  young  father,  who  died 
broken-hearted  on  the  first  anniversary  of  that  hard  day. 

The  betrothal  of  Rosa  grew  out  of  the  soothing  of  his  year 


BIRDS'  IN   THE  BUSH. 


75 


of  mental  distress  by  his  fast  friend  and  old  college  companion, 
Drood  :  who  likewise  had  been  left  a  widower  in  his  youth. 
But  he,  too,  went  the  silent  road  into  which  all  earthly  pilgrim- 
ages merge,  some  sooner  and  some  later ;  and  thus  the  young 
couple  had  come  to  be  as  they  were. 

The  atmosphere  of  pity  surrounding  the  little  orphan  girl 
when  she  first  came  to  Cloisterham  had  never  cleared  away. 
Jc  had  taken  brighter  hues  as  she  grew  older,  happier,  prettier; 
now  it  had  been  golden,  now  roseate,  and  now  azure  ;  but  it 
had  always  adorned  her  with  some  soft  light  of  its  own.  The 
general  desire  to  console  and  caress  her  had  caused  her  to  be 
treated  in  the  beginning  as  a  child  much  younger  than  her 
years  ;  the  same  desire  had  caused  her  to  be  still  petted  when 
she  was  a  child  no  longer.  Who  should  be  her  favourite  ?  who 
should  anticipate  this  or  that  small  present,  cr  do  her  this  or 
that  small  service  ?  who  should  take  her  home  for  the  holidays  ? 
who  should  write  to  her  the  oftenest  when  they  were  separated  ? 
and  whom  she  would  most  rejoice  to  see  again  when  they  were 
reunited  ; — even  these  gentle  rivalries  were  not  without  their 
slight  dashes  of  bitterness  in  the  Nuns'  House.  Well  for  the 
poor  nuns  in  their  day,  if  they  hid  no  harder  strife  under  their 
veils  and  rosaries. 

Thus  Rosa  had  grown  to  be  an  amiable,  giddy,  wilful,  win- 
ning little  creature  ;  spoilt,  in  the  sense  of  counting  upon  kind- 
ness from  all  around  her ;  but  not  in  the  sense  of  repaying  it 
with  indifference.  Possessing  an  exhaustless  well  of  affection 
in  her  nature,  its  sparkling  waters  had  freshened  and  brightened 
the  Nuns'  House  for  years,  and  yet  its  depths  had  never  yet 
been  moved:  what  might  betide  when  that  came  to  pass; 
what  developing  changes  might  fall  upon  the  heedless  head 
and  light  heart  then,  remained  to  be  seen. 

By  what  means  the  news  that  there  had  been  a  quarrel  be- 
tween the  two  young  men  over-night,  involving  even  some 
kind  of  onslaught  by  Mr.  Neville  upon  Edwin  Drood,  got  into 
Miss  Twinkleton' s  establishment  before  breakfast,  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  say.  Whether  it  was  brought  in  by  the  birds  of  the  air, 
or  came  blowing  in  with  the  very  air  itself,  when  the  casement 
windows  were  set  open  ;  whether  the  baker  brought  it  kneaded 
into  the  bread,  or  the  milkman  delivered  it  as  part  of  the 
adulteration  of  his  milk  ;  or  the  housemaids,  beating  the  dust 
out  of  their  mats  against  the  gateposts,  received  it  in  exchange 
deposited  on  the  mats  by  the  town  atmosphere  ;  certain  it  is 
that  the  news  permeated  every  gable  of  the  old  building  before 
Miss  Twinkleton  was  down,  and  that  Miss  Twinkleton  herself 


76 


THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


received  it  through  Mrs.  Tisher,  while  yet  in  the  act  of  dress- 
ing  ;  or  (as  she  might  have  expressed  the  phrase  to  a  parent  01 
guardian  of  a  mythological  turn)  of  sacrificing  to  the  Graces. 

Miss  Landless' s  brother  had  thrown  a  bottle  at  Mr.  Edwin 
Drood. 

Miss  Landless's  brother  had  thrown  a  knife  at  Mr.  Edwin 
Drood. 

A  knife  became  suggestive  of  a  fork,  and  Miss  Landless's 
brother  had  thrown  a  fork  at  Mr.  Edwin  Drood. 

As  in  the  governing  precedent  of  Peter  Piper,  alleged  to  have 
picked  the  peck  of  pickled  pepper,  it  was  held  physically  de- 
sirable to  have  evidence  of  the  existence  of  the  peck  of  pickled 
pepper  which  Peter  Piper  was  alleged  to  have  picked  ;  so,  in 
this  case,  it  was  held  psychologically  important  to  know,  Why 
Miss  Landless's  brother  threw  a  bottle,  knife,  or  fork — or 
bottle,  knife,  and  fork — for  the  cook  had  been  given  to  under- 
stand it  was  all  three — at  Mr.  Edwin  Drood? 

Well,  then.  Miss  Landless's  brother  had  said  he  admired 
Miss  Bud.  Mr.  Edwin  Drood  had  said  to  Miss  Landless's 
brother  that  he  had  no  business  to  admire  Miss  Bud.  Miss 
Landless's  brother  had  then  "  up'd"  (this  was  the  cook's  exact 
information)  with  the  bottle,  knife,  fork,  and  decanter  (the 
decanter  now  coolly  flying  at  everybody's  head,  without  the 
least  introduction),  and  threw  them  all  at  Mr.  Edwin  Drood. 

Poor  little  Rosa  put  a  forefinger  into  each  of  her  ears  when 
these  rumours  began  to  circulate,  and  retired  into  a  corner,  be- 
seeching not  to  be  told  any  more  ;  but  Miss  Landless,  begging 
permission  of  Miss  Twinkleton  to  go  and  speak  with  her 
brother,  and  pretty  plainly  showing  that  she  would  take  it  if  it 
were  not  given,  struck  out  the  more  definite  course  of  going  to 
Mr.  Crisparkle's  for  accurate  intelligence. 

When  she  came  back  (being  first  closeted  with  Miss  Twinkle- 
ton,  in  order  that  anything  objectionable  in  her  tidings  might 
be  retained  by  that  discreet  filter),  she  imparted  to  Rosa  only 
what  had  taken  place  ;  dwelling  with  a  flushed  cheek  on  the 
provocation  her  brother  had  received,  but  almost  limiting  it  to 
that  last  gross  affront  as  crowning  "  some  other  words  between 
them,"  and,  out  of  consideration  for  her  new  friend,  passing 
lightly  over  the  fact  that  the  other  words  had  originated  in  her 
lover's  taking  things  in  general  so  very  easily.  To  Rosa 
direct,  she  brought  a  petition  from  her  brother  that  she  would 
forgive  him  ;  and,  having  delivered  it  with  sisterly  earnestness, 
made  an  end  of  the  subject. 

It  was  reserved  for  Miss  Twinkleton  to  tone  down  the  public 


BIRDS  IN  THE  BUSH. 


77 


mind  of  the  Nuns'  House.  That  lady,  therefore,  entering  in  a 
stately  manner  what  plebeians  might  have  called  the  school- 
room, but  what,  in  the  patrician  language  of  the  head  of  the 
Nuns'  House,  was  euphuistically,  not  10  say  roundaboutedly, 
denominated  "  the  apartment  allotted  io  study,"  and  saying  with 
a  forensic  air,  "Ladies!"  all  rose.  Mrs.  Tisher  at  the  same 
time  grouped  herself  behind  her  chief,  as  representing  Queen 
Elizabeth's  first  historical  female  friend  at  Tilbury  Fort.  Miss 
Twinkleton  then  proceeded  to  remark  that  Rumour,  Ladies,  had 
been  represented  by  the  Bard  of  Avon, — needless  were  it  to 
mention  the  immortal  Shakespeare,  also  called  the  Swan  of 
Iris  native  river,  not  improbably  with  some  reference  to  the 
ancient  superstition  that  that  bird  of  graceful  plumage  (Miss 
Jennings  will  please  stand  upright)  sang  sweetly  on  the  approach 
of  death,  for  which  we  have  no  ornithological  authority, — 
Rumour,  Ladies,  had  been  represented  by  that  bard— hem  !— 

"who  drew 
The  celebrated  Jew," 

as  painted  full  of  tongues.  Rumour  in  Cloisterham  (Miss  Fer- 
dinand will  honour  me  with  her  attention)  was  no  exception  to 
the  great  limner's  portrait  of  Rumour  elsewhere.  A  slight 
fracas  between  two  young  gentlemen  occurring  last  night 
within  a  hundred  miles  of  these  peaceful  walls  (Miss  Ferdinand, 
being  apparently  incorrigible,  will  have  the  kindness  to  write 
out  this  evening  in  tlie  original  language,  the  first  four  fables  of 
our  vivacious  neighbour,  Monsieur  La  Fontaine)  had  been 
very  grossly  exaggerated  by  Rumour's  voice.  In  the  first  alarm 
and  anxiety  arising  from  our  sympathy  with  a  sweet  young 
friend,  not  wholly  to  be  dissociated  from  one  of  the  gladiators  in 
the  bloodless  arena  in  question  (the  impropriety  of  Miss  Rey- 
nold's appearing  to  stab  herself  in  the  hand  with  a  pin  is  far 
too  obvious,  and  too  glaringly  unladylike,  to  be  pointed  out), 
we  descended  from  our  maiden  elevation  to  discuss  this  uncon- 
genial and  this  unfit  theme.  Responsible  inquiries  having 
assured  us  that  itfwas  but  one  of  those  "airy  nothings"  pointed 
at  by  the  Poet  (whose  name  and  date  of  birth  Miss  Giggles 
will  supply  within  half  an  hour),  we  would  now  discard  the  sub- 
ject, and  concentrate  our  minds  upon  the  grateful  labours  of  the 
day. 

But  the  subject  so  survived  all  day,  nevertheless,  that  Miss 
Ferdinand  got  into  new  trouble  by  surreptitiously  clapping  on 
a  paper  mustache  at  dinner-time,  and  going  through   the  mo- 


78 


THE  MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


tions  of  aiming  a  water-bottle  at  Miss  Giggles,  who  drew  a 
table-spoon  in  defence. 

Now,  Rosa  thought  of  this  unlucky  quarrel  a  great  deal,  and 
thought  of  it  with  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that  she  was  involved 
in  it,  as  cause,  or  consequence,  or  what  not,  through  being  in 
a  false  position  altogether  as  to  her  marriage  engagement. 
Never  free  fTom  such  uneasiness  when  she  was  with  her  afi 
fiancee!  husband,  it  was  not  likely  that  she  would  be  free  when 
they  were  apart.  To-day,  too,  she  was  cast  in  upon  herself, 
and  deprived  of  the  relief  of  talking  freely  with  her  new  friend, 
because  the  quarrel  had  been  with  Helena's  brother,  and 
Helena  undisguisedly  avoided  the  subject  as  a  delicate  and  dif- 
ficult one  to  herself.  At  this  critical  time,  of  all  times,  Rosa's 
guardian  was  announced  as  having  come  to  see  her. 

Mr.  Grewgious  had  been  well  selected  for  his  trust,  as  a  man 
of  incorruptible  integrity,  but  certainly  for  no  other  appropriate 
quality  discernible  on  the  surface.  He  was  an  arid,  sandy 
man,  who,  if  he  had  been  put  into  a  grinding-mill,  looked  as  if 
he  would  have  ground  immediately  into  high-dried  snuff.  He 
had  a  scanty  flat  crop  of  hair,  in  colour  and  consistency  like 
some  very  mangy  yellow  fur  tippet ;  it  was  so  unlike  hair,  that 
it  must  have  been  a  wig,  but  for  the  stupendous  improbability 
of  anybody's  voluntarily  sporting  such  a  head.  The  little  play 
of  feature  that  his  face  presented  was  cut  deep  into  it,  in  a  few 
hard  curves  that  made  it  more  like  work  ;  and  he  had  certain 
notches  in  his  forehead,  which  looked  as  though  Nature  had 
been  about  to  touch  them  into  sensibility  or  refinement,  when 
she  had  impatiently  thrown  away  the  chisel,  and  said,  "I 
really  cannot  be  worried  to  finish  off  this  man  ;  let  him  go  as 
he  is." 

With  too  great  length  of  throat  at  his  upper  end,  and  too 
much  ankle-bone  and  heel  at  his  lower  ;  with  an  awkward  and 
-hesitating  manner;  with  a  shambling  walk,  and  with  what  is 
called  a  near  sight, — which  perhaps  prevented  his  observing 
how  much  white  cotton  stocking  he  displayed  to  the  public 
eye,  in  contrast  with  his  black-suit, — Mr.  Grewgious  still  had 
some  strange  capacity  in  him  of  making  on  the  whole  an  agree- 
able impression. 

Mr.  Grewgious  was  discovered  by  his  ward,  much  discom- 
fited by  being  in  Miss  Twinkleton's  company  in  Miss  Twinkle- 
ton's  own  sacred  room.  Dim  forebodings  of  being  examined 
.in  something,  and  not  coming  well  out  of  it,  seemed  to  oppress 
the  poor  gentleman  when  found  in  these  circumstances. 

"  My  dear,  how  do  you  do  ?     I  am  glad  to  see  you.     My  dear, 


BIRDS  IN    THE   BUSH.  jg 

how  much  improved  you  are.      Permit  me  to  hand  you  a  chair, 
my  dear." 

Miss  Twinkleton  rose  at  her  little  writing-table,  saying  with 
general  sweetness,  as  to  the  polite  Universe,  "Will  you  permit 
me  to  retire  ?  " 

"  By  no  means,  madam,  on  my  account.  I  beg  that  you  will 
not  move." 

"  1  must  entreat  permission  tt)  moz'e"  returned  Miss  Twin- 
ldeton, repeating  the  word  with  a  charming  grace  ;  "  but  I  will 
not  withdraw,  since  you  are  so  obliging,  li  1  wheel  my  desk  to 
this  corner  window,  shall  I  be  in  the  way?" 

"  Madam  !      In  the  way  !  " 

"  You  are  very  kind.  Rosa,  my  dear,  you  will  be  under  no 
restraint,  I  am  sure." 

Here  Mr.  Grewgious,  left  by  the  fire  with  Rosa,  said  again, 
"  My  dear,  how  do  you  do  ?  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear." 
And  having  waited  for  her  to  sit  down,  sat  down  himself. 

"My  visits,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "are,  like  those  of  the  an- 
gels— not  that  I  compare  myself  to  an  angel." 

"  No  sir,"  said  Rosa. 

"Not  by  any  means,"  assented  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  I  merely 
refer  to  my  visits,  which  are  few  and  far  between.  The  angels 
are,  we  know  very  well,  upstairs." 

Miss  Twinkleton  looked  round  with  a  kind  of  stiff  stare. 

'•  I    refer,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  laying  his  hand  on 
a     the  possibility  thrilled  through  his  frame  of  his  other! 
>eeihing  to  take  the  awful  liberty  of  calling  Miss  Twinkleton 
my  dear, — "I  refer  to  the  other  young  ladies." 

Miss  Twinkleton  resumed  her  writing. 

Mr.  Grewgious,  with  a  sense  of  not  having  managed  his 
opening  point  quite  as  neatly  as  lie  might  have  desired,  smoothed 
his  head  from  back  to  front  as  if  he  had  just  dived,  and  were 
pressing  the  water  out, — this  smoothing  action,  however  super-' 
litious,  was  habitual  with  him, — and  took  a  pocket-book  from 
his  coat-pocket,  and  a  stump  of  black-lead  pencil  from  his  waist- 
coat-pocket. 

"  I  made,"  he  said,  turning  the  leaves, — "  I  made  a  guiding 
memorandum  or  so, — as  I  usually  do,  for  1  have  no  conversa- 
tional powers,  whatever, — to  which  I  will,  with  your  permission, 
my  dear,  refer.  '  Well  and  happy.'  Truly.  You  are  well  and 
happy,  my  dear?     You  look  so." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  sir,"  answered  Rosa. 

"Tor  which,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  abend  of  his  head 
towards  the  corner  window,  "our  warmest  acknowledgments 


80  THE  MYSTERY   OE  EDWIN  DROOD. 

are  due,  and  I  am  sure  are  rendered,  to  the  maternal  kindness 
and  the  constant  care  and  consideration  of  the  lady  whom  I 
have  now  the  honour  to  see  before  me." 

Thid  point,  again,  made  but  a  line  departure  from  Mr. 
Grewgious,  and  never  got  to  its  destination  ;  for  Miss  Twinkle* 
ton,  feeling  that  the  courtesies  required  her  to  be  by  this  time 
quite  outside  the  conversation,  was  biting  the  end  of  her  pen, 
and  looking  upward,  as  waiting  iox  the  descent  of  an  idea 
from  any  member  of  the  Celestial  Nine  who  might  haye  one  to 
spare. 

Mr.  Grewgious  smoothed  his  smooth  head  again,  and  then 
made  another  reference  to  his  pocket-book  ;  lining  out  "well 
and  happy"  as  disposed  of. 

"'Pounds,  shillings,  and  pence'  is  my  next  note.  A  dry 
subject  for  a  young  lady,  but  an  important  subject  too.  Life 
is  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence.  Death  is — "  A  sudden  re- 
collection of  the  death  of  her  two  parents  seemed  to  stop  him, 
and  he  said  in  a  softer  tone,  and  evidently  inserting  the  nega- 
tive as  an  after-thought,  "Death  is  not  pounds,  shillings,  and 
pence." 

His  voice  was  as  hard  and  dry  as  himself,  and  Fancy  might 
have  ground  it  straight  like  himself,  into  high-dried  snuff.  And 
yet,  through  the  very  limited  means  of  expression  that  he  pos- 
sessed, he  seemed  to  express  kindness.  If  Nature  had  but 
finished  him  off,  kindness  might  have  been  recognizable  in  his 
face  at  this  moment.  But  if  the  notches  in  his  forehead  wouldn't 
fuse  together,  and  if  his  face  would  work  and  couldn't  play, 
what  could  he  do,  poor  man  i 

"  '  Pounds,  shillings,  and  pence.'  You  find  your  allowance 
always  sufficient  for  your  wants,  my  dear?" 

Rosa  wanted  for  nothing,  and  therefore  it  was  ample. 

"And  yoa  are  not  in  debt  ?  " 

Rosa  laughed  at  the  idea  of  being  in  debt.  It  seemed,  to 
her  inexperience,  a  comical  vagary  of  the  imagination.  Mr. 
Grewgious  stretched  his  near  sight  to  be  sure  that  this  was  her 
view  of  the  case.  "Ah  ! ''  he  said,  as  comment,  with  a  furtive 
glance  towards  Miss  Twinkleton,  and  lining  out  "pounds,  shil- 
lings, and  pence,"  "  I  spoke  of  having  got  among  the  angels  ! 
So  I  did  !  " 

Rosa  felt  what  his  next  memorandum  would  prove  to  be, 
and  was  blushing  and  folding  a  crease  in  her  dress  with  one  em- 
barrassed hand  long  before  he  found  it. 

"  '  Marriage.'  Hem  !  "  Mr.  Grewgious  carries  his  smooth- 
ing hand  down  over  his  eyes  and  nose,  and  even  chin,  before 


BIRDS  IN   THE  BUSH.  8 1 

drawing  his  chair  a  little  nearer,  and  speaking  a  little  more 
confidentially  :  "I  now  touch,  my  dear,  upon  the  point  that  is 
the  direct  cause  of  my  troubling  you  with  die  present  visit. 
Otherwise,  being  a  particularly  Angular  man,  I  should  not  have 
intruded  here.  I  am  the  last  man  to  intrude  into  a  sphere  for 
which  I  am  so  entirely  unfitted.  1  feel,  on  these  premises,  as 
if  I  was  a  bear — with  the  cramp — in  a  youthful  Cotillon." 

His  ungainliness  gave  him  enough  of  the  air  of  his  simile  to 
set  Rosa  off  laughing  heartily. 

"It  strikes  you  in  the  same  light,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  with 
perfect  calmness.  "Just  so.  To  return  to  my  memorandum. 
Mr.  Edwin  has  been  to  and  fro  here,  as  was  arranged.  You 
have  mentioned  that,  in  your  quarterly  letters  to  me.  And  you 
like  him,  and  he  likes  you." 

"  I  like  him  very  much,  sir,"  rejoined  Rosa. 

"  So  I  said,  my  dear,"  returned  her  guardian,  for  whose  ear 
the  timid  emphasis  was  much  too  fine.  "  Good.  And  you  cor- 
respond." 

"  We  write  to  one  another,"  said  Rosa,  pouting,  as  she  re- 
called their  epistolary  differences. 

"  Such  is  the  meaning  that  I  attach  to  the  word  'correspond' 
in  this  application,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  Good. 
All  goes  well,  time  works  on,  and  at  this  next  Christmas-time 
it  will  become  necessary,  as  a  matter  of  form,  to  give  the  ex- 
emplary lady  in  the  corner  window,  to  whom  we  are  so  much 
indebted,  business  notice  of  your  departure  in  the  ensuing  half- 
year.  Your  relations  with  her  are  far  more  than  business  rela- 
tions no  doubt ;  but  a  residue  of  business  remains  in  them,  and 
business  is  business  ever.  I  am  a  particularly  Angular  man," 
proceeded  Mr.  Grewgious,  as  if  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  to 
mention  it,  "and  I  am  not  used  to  give  anything  away.  If,  for 
these  two  reasons,  some  competent  Proxy  would  give  you  away, 
I  should  take  it  very  kindly." 

Rosa  intimated,  with  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  that  she  thought 
a  substitute  might  be  found,  if  required. 

"Surely,  surely,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  For  iastance,  the  old 
gentleman  who  teaches  Dancing  here, — he  would  know  how  to  do 
it  with  graceful  propriety.  He  would  advance  and  retire  in  a 
manner  satisfactory  to  the  feelings  of  the  officiating  clergyman, 
and  of  yourself,  and  the  bridegroom,  and  all  parties  concerned. 
I  am — I  am  a  particularly  Angular  man,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious, 
as  if  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  screw  it  out  at  last,  "  and 
should  only  blunder." 

Rosa  sat  still  and  silent.  Perhaps  her  mind  had  not  got 
4* 


82  THE  MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

quite  so  far  as  the  ceremony  yet,  but  was  lagging  on  the  way 
there. 

'•  Memorandum,  '  Will.'  Now,  my  clear,"  said  Mr.  Grew- 
gious,  referring  to  his  notes,  disposing  of  "marriage"  with  his 
pencil,  and  taking  a  paper  from  his  pocket,  "  although  I  have 
before  possessed  yon  with  the  contents  of  your  father's  will,  I 
think  it  right  at  this  time  to  leave  a  certified  copy  of  it  in  youi 
hands.  And  although  Mr.  Edwin  is  also  aware  of  its  contents, 
J  think  it  right  at  this  time  likewise  to  place  a  certified  copy  of 
it  in  Mr.  Jasper's  hands — " 

"  Not  in  his  own  ?  "  asked  Rosa,  looking  up  quickly.  "  Can- 
not the  copy  go  to  Eddy  himself?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  my  dear,  if  you  particularly  wish  it  ;  but  I  spoke 
of  Mr.  Jasper  as  being  his  trustee." 

"  1  do  particularly  wish  it,  if  you  please,"  said  Rosa,  hurriedly 
and  earnestly  ;  "  1  don't  like  Mr.  Jasper  to  come  between  us, 
in  any  way." 

"  It  is  natural,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  that  your 
young  husband  should  be  all  in  all.  Yes.  You  observe  that  I 
say,  I  suppose.  The  fact  is,  lam  a  particularly  Unnatural  man, 
and  I  don't  know  from  my  own  knowledge." 

Rosa  looked  at  him  with  some  wonder. 

"I  mean,"  he  explained,  "  that  young  ways  were  never  my 
ways.  I  was  the  only  offspring  of  parents  far  advanced  in  life, 
and  I  half  believe  I  was  born  advanced  in  life  myself.  No 
personality  is  intended  towards  the  name  you  will  so  soon 
change,  when  I  remark  that  while  the  general  growth  of  people 
seem  to  have  come  into  existence  buds,  I  seem  to  have  come 
into  existence  a  chip.  I  was  a  chip — and  a  very  dry  one — 
when  I  first  became  aware  of  myself.  Respecting  the  other 
certified  copy,  your  wish  shall  be  complied  with.  Respecting 
your  inheritance,  1  think  you  know  all.  It  is  an  annuity  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  The  savings  upon  that  annuity,  and 
some  other  items  to  your  credit,  all  duly  carried  to  account,  with 
vouchers,  will  place  you  in  possession  of  a  lump-sum  of  money, 
rather  exceeding  Seventeen  hundred  Pounds.  I  am  empowered 
to  advance  the  cost  of  your  preparations  for  your  marriage  out 
of  that  fund.      All  is  told." 

"  Will  you  please  tell  me."  said  Rosa,  taking  the  paper 
with  a  prettily  knitted  brow,  but  not  opening  it,  "  whether  I  am 
right  in  what  I  am  going  to  say?  I  can  understand  what  you 
tell  me  so  very  much  better  than  what  I  read  in  law-writings. 
My  poor  papa  and  Eddy's  father  made  their  agreement  together, 


BIRDS  IN   THE   BUSH. 


83 


as  very  dear  and  firm  and  fast  friends,  in  order  that  we   two 
might  be  very  dear  and  firm  and  fast  friends  after  them  ?  " 

"  Just  so." 

"  For  the  lasting  good  of  both  of  us,  and  the  lasting  happi- 
ness of  bodi  of  us  ?  " 

"  Just  so." 

"  That  we  might  be  to  one  another  even  much  more  than 
they  had  been  to  one  another  ?  " 

"  Just  so." 

"  It  was  not  bound  upon  Eddy,  and  it  was  not  bound  upon 
me,  by  any  forfeit,  in  case — " 

"  Don't  be  agitated,  my  dear.  In  the  case  that  it  brings 
tears  into  your  affectionate  eyes  even  to  picture  to  yourself, — 
in  the  case  of  your  not  marrying  one  an  other, — no,  no  forfeiture 
on  cither  side.  You  would  then  have  been  my  ward  until  you 
were  of  age.  No  worse  would  have  befallen  you.  Bad  enough, 
perhaps ! " 

"  And  Eddy  ?  " 

"  He  would  have  come  into  his  partnership  derived  from  his 
rather,  and  into  its  arrears  to  his  credit  (if  any),  on  attaining 
iiis  majority,  just  as  now." 

Rosa,  with  her  perplexed  face  and  knitted  brow,  bit  the  cor- 
ner of  her  attested  copy,  as  she  sat  with  her  head  on  one  side, 
looking  abstractedly  on  the  floor,  and  smoothing  it  with  her 
foot. 

li  In  short,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  this  betrothal  is  a  wish, 
a  sentiment,  a  friendly  project,  tenderly  expressed,  on  both 
sides.  That  it  was  strongly  felt,  and  that  there  was  a  lively 
hope  that  it  would  prosper,  there  can  be  no  doubt.  When  you 
were  both  children,  you  began  to  be  accustomed  to  it,  and  it 
has  prospered.  But  circumstances  alter  cases  ;  and  I  made 
this  visit  to-day  partly,  indeed  principally,  to  discharge  .myself 
of  the  duty  of  telling  you,  my  dear,  that  two  young  people  can 
only  be  betrothed  in  marriage  (except  as  a  matter  of  conveni- 
ence, and  therefore  mockery  and  misery)  oftheir  own  free  will, 
their  own  attachment,  and  their  own  assurance  (it  may  or  may 
not  prove  a  mistaken  one,  but  we  must  take  our  chance  of  that) 
that  they  are  suited  to  each  other  and  will  make  each  other 
happy.  Is  it  to  be  supposed,  for  example,  that  if  either  of  your 
fathers  were  living  now,  and  had  any  mistrust  on  that  subject, 
his  mind  would  not  be  changed  by  the  change  of  circumstances 
involved  in  the  change  of  your  years  ?  Untenable,  unreason- 
able, inconclusive,  and  preposterous  !  " 

Mr.  Grewgious  said  all  this  as  if  he  were  reading  it  aloud  ;  or, 


84 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


still  more,  as  if  he  were  repeating  a  lesson.  So  expressionless 
of  any  approach  to  spontaneity  were  his  face  and  manner. 

"  I  have  now,  my  dear,"  he  added,  blurring  out  "  Will " 
with  his  pencil,  "  discharged  myself  of  what  is  doubtless  a  formal 
duty  in  this  case,  but  still  a  duty  in  such  a  case.  Memoran- 
dum :  '  Wishes.'  My  dear,  is  there  any  wish  of  yours  that  I 
can  further  ?  " 

Rosa  shook  her  head,  with  an  almost  plaintive  air  of  hesita- 
tion in  want  of  help. 

"Is  there  any  instruction  that  I  can  take  from  you  with  ref- 
erence to  your  affairs  ?  " 

"  I — I  should  like  to  settle  them  with  Eddy  hrst,  if  you 
please,"  said  Rosa,  plaiting  the  crease  in  her  dress. 

"Surely.  Surely,"  returned  Mr.  Grewgious.  "You  two 
should  be  of  one  mind  in  all  things.  Is  the  young  gentleman 
expected  shortly  ?  " 

"He  has  gone  away  only  this  morning.  He  will  be  back  at 
Christmas." 

"  Nothing  could  happen  better.  You  will,  on  his  return  at 
Christmas,  arrange  all  matters  of  detail  with  him  ;  you  will  then 
communicate  with  me,  and  I  will  discharge  myself  (as  a  mere 
business  acquittance)  of  my  business  responsibilities  towards 
the  accomplished  lady  in  the  corner  window.  They  will  accrue 
at  that  season."  Blurring  pencil  once  again.  "  Memorandum  : 
'  Leave.'     Yes.     I  will  now,  my  dear,  take  my  leave." 

"  Could  I,"  said  Rosa,  rising,  as  he  jerked  out  of  his  chair  in 
his  ungainly  way,—"  could  I  ask  you  most  kindly  to  come  to 
me  at  Christmas,  if  I  had  anything  particular  to  say  to  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  certaiftly,  certainly,"  he  rejoined,  apparently — if  such 
a  word  can  be  used  of  one  who  had  no  apparent  lights  or  shad- 
ows about  him — complimented  by  the  question.  "  As  a  par- 
ticularly Angular  man,  1  do  not  lit  smoothly  into  the  social  cir- 
cle, and  consequently  1  have  no  other  engagement  at  Christ- 
mas-time than  to  partake,  on  the  twenty-fifth,  of  a  boiled  tur- 
key and  celery  sauce  with  a — with  a  particularly  Angular 
clerk  I  have  the  good  fortune  to  possess,  whose  father,  being  a 
Norfolk  farmer,  sends  him  up  (the  turkey  up),  as  a  present  to 
me,  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Norwich.  I  should  be  quite 
proud  of  your  wishing  to  see  me,  my  dear.  As  a  professional 
Receiver  of  rents,  so  very  few  people  do  wish  to  see  me,  that 
the  novelty  would  be,  bracing." 

For  his  ready  acquiescence,  the  grateful  Rosa  put  her  hands 
npon  his  shoulders,  stood  on  tiptoe,  anuTmstantly  kissed  him. 

"Lord  bless  me  !  "  cried  Mr.  Grewgious.     "  Thank  you>  my 


BIRDS  IN   THE  BUSH. 


85 


dear.  The  honour  is  almost  equal  to  the  pleasure.  Miss 
Twinkleton,  madam,  I  have  had  a  most  satisfactory  conversa- 
tion with  my  ward,  and  I  will  now  release  you  from  the  incum- 
brance of  my  presence." 

"  Nay,  sir,"  rejoined  Miss  Twinkleton,  rising  with  a  gracious 
condescension,  "say  not  encumbrance.  Not  so,  by  any  means. 
1  cannot  permit  you  to  say  so." 

"Thank  you,  madam.  I  have  read  in  the  newspapers,"  said 
Mr.  Grewgious,  stammering  a  little,  "  that  when  a  distinguished 
visitor  (not  that  I  am  one  :  far  from  it)  goes  to  a  school  (not 
that  this  is  one  :  far  from  it)  he  asks  for  a  holiday,  or  some  sort 
of  grace.  It  being  now  the  afternoon  in  the — College — of 
which  you  are  the  eminent  head,  the  young  ladies  might  gain 
nothing,  except  in  name,  by  having  the  rest  of  the  day  allowed 
them.  But  if  there  is  any  young  lady  at  all  under  a  cloud, 
might  I  solicit — " 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Grewgious,  Mr.  Grewgious  !"  cried  Miss  Twinkle- 
ton, with  a  chastely  rallying  forefinger.  "  O  you  gentlemen, 
you  gentlemen  !  Fie  for  shame,  that  you  are  so  hard  upon  us 
poor  maligned  disciplinarians  of  our  sex,  for  your  sakes  !  But 
as  Miss  Ferdinand  is  at  present  weighed  down  by  an  incu- 
bus,"— Miss  Twinkleton  might  have  said  a  pen-an-ink-ubus  of 
writing  out  Monsieur  La  Fontaine, — "  go  to  her,  Rosa,  my 
dear,  and  tell  her  the  penalty  is  remitted,  in  deference  to  the 
intercession  of  your  guardian,  Mr.  Grewgious." 

Miss  Twinkleton  here  achieved  a  courtesy,  suggestive  of  mar- 
vels happening  to  her  respected  legs,  and  which  she  came  out 
of  nobly,  three  yards  behind  her  starting-point. 

As  he  held  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  call  on  Mr.  Jasper  be- 
fore leaving  Cloisterham,  Mr.  Grewgious  went  to  the  Gate 
House,  and  climbed  its  postern  stair.  But  Mr.  Jasper's  door 
being  closed,  and  presenting  on  a  slip  of  paper  the  word  "  Cathe- 
dral," the  fact  of  its  being  service  time  was  borne  into  the  mind 
of  Mr.  Grewgious.  So  he  descended  the  stair  again,  and,  cross- 
ing the  Close,  paused  at  the  great  western  folding-door  of  the 
Cathedral,  winch  stood  open  on  the  fine  and  bright,  though 
short-lived,  afternoon,  for  the  airing  of  the  place. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  peeping  in,  "  it's  like  look- 
ing down  the  throat  of  Old  Time." 

Old  Time  heaved  a  mouldy  sigh  from  tomb  and  arch  and 
vault  ;  and  gloomy  shadows  began  to  deepen  in  corners  ;  and 
damps  began  to  rise  from  green  patches  of  stone  ;  and  jewels, 
cast  upon  the  pavement  of  the  nave  fro;n  stained  glass  by  the 
declining  sun,  began  to  perish.       Within  the  grill-gate  of  the 


86  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

chancel,  up  the  steps  surmounted  loomingly  by  the  fast-darken- 
ing organ,  white  robes  could  be  dimly  seen,  and  one  feeble 
voice,  rising  and  falling  in  a  cracked  monotonous  mutter,  could 
at  intervals  be  faintly  heard.  In  the  free  outer  air,  the  river, 
the  green  pastures,  and  the  brown  arable  lands,  the  teeming 
hills  and  diles,  were  reddened  by  the  sunset:  while  the  distant 
little  windows  in  windmiVs  and  farm  homesteads,  shone,  patches 
of  bright  beaten  gold.  In  the  Cathedral,  all  became  gray, 
murky,  and  sepulchral,  and  the  cracked  monotonous  mutter. 
went  on  like  a  dying  voice,  until  the  organ  and  the  choir  burst 
forth,  and  drowned  it  in  a  sea  of  music.  Then  the  sea  fell,  and 
the  dying  voice  made  another  feeble  effort,  and  then  the  sea 
rose  high,  and  beat  its  life  out,  and  lashed  the  roof,  and  surged 
among  the  arches,  and  pierced  the  heights  of  the  great  tower; 
and  then  the  sea  was  dry,  and  all  was  still. 

Mr.  Grewgious  had  by  that  time  walked  to  the  chancel-steps, 
where  he  met  the  living  waters  coming  out. 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter  ?  "  Thus  Jasper  accosted  him,  rather 
quickly.     "  You  have  not  been  sent  for?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all.  I  came  down  of  my  own  accord. 
1  have  been  to  my  pretty  ward's,  and  am  now  homeward  bound 
again." 

"  You  found  her  thriving?" 

"Blooming  indeed.  Most  blooming.  I  merely  came  to  tell 
her,  seriously,  what  a  betrothal  by  deceased  parents  is." 

"And  what  is  it,— according  to  your  judgment  ?  " 

Mr.  Grewgious  noticed  the  whiteness  of  the  lips  that  asked 
the  question,  and  put  it  down  to  the  chilling  account  of  the 
Cathedral. 

"  I  merely  came  to  tell  her  that  it  could  not  be  considered 
binding,  against  any  such  reason  for  its  dissolution  as  a  want  of 
affection,  or  want  of  disposition  to  carry  it  into  effect,  on  the 
side  of  either  party." 

"  May  I  ask,  had  you  any  especial  reason  for  telling  her 
that?" 

Mr.  Grewgious  answered  somewhat  sharply,  "  The  especial 
reason  of  doing  my  duty,  sir.  Simply  that."  Then  he  added, 
"  Come,  Mr.  jasper ;  I  know  your  affection  for  your  nephew, 
and  that  yon  arc  quick  to  feel  on  his  behalf.  I  assure  you  that 
this  implies  not  the  least  doubt  of,  or  disrespect  to,  your 
nephew." 

"  You  could  not,"  returned  Jasper,  with  a  friendly  pressure  of 
his  arm,  as  they  walked  on  side  by  side,  "speak  more  hand- 
somely." 


BIRDS  IN    THE  BUSH. 


Z7 


Mr.  Grewgious  pulled  off  his  hat  to  smooth  his  head,  and, 
having  smoothed  it,  nodded  it  contentedly,  and  put  his  hat  on 
again. 

"  I  will  wager,"  said  Jasper,  smiling, — his  lips  were  still  so 
white  that  he  was  conscious  of  it,  and  bit  and  moistened  them 
while  speaking, — "  I  will  wager  that  she  hinted  no  wish  to  he 
released  from  Ned." 

"And  you  will  win  your  wager,  if  you  do,"  retorted  Mr. 
Grewgious.  "  We  should  allow  some  margin  for  little  maidenly 
delicacies  in  a  young  motherless  creature,  under  such  circum- 
stances, 1  suppose  ;  it  is  not  in  my  line  ;  what  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  it." 

"  I  am  glad  you  say  so.  Because,"  proceeded  Mr.  Grewgi- 
ous, who  had  all  this  time  very  knowingly  felt  his  way  round  to 
action  on  his  remembrance  of  what  she  had  said  of  Jasper  him- 
self,— "because  she  seems  to  have  some  little  delicate  instinct 
that  all  preliminary  arrangements  had  best  be  made  between 
Mr.  Edwin  Drood  and  herself,  don't  you  see?  She  don't  want 
us,  don't  you  know  ?  " 

Jasper  touched  himself  on  the  breast,  and  said,  somewhat  in- 
distinctly, "  You  mean  me." 

Mr.  Grewgious  touched  himself  on  the  breast,  and  said,  "  I 
mean  us.  Therefore,  let  them  have  their  little  discussions  and 
councils  together,  when  Mr.  Edwin  Drood  comes  back  here  at 
Christmas,  and  then  you  and  I  will  step  in,  and  put  the  final 
touches  to  the  business." 

"  So  you  settled  with  her  that  you  would  come  back  at  Christ- 
mas?" observed  Jasper.  "I  see!  Mr.  Grewgious,  as  you 
quite  fairly  said  just  now,  there  is  such  an  exceptional  attach- 
ment between  my  nephew  and  me,  that  I  am  more  sensitive  for 
the  dear,  fortunate,  happy,  happy  fellow  than  for  myself.  But 
it  is  only  right  that  the  young  lady  should  be  considered,  as  you 
have  pointed  out,  and  that  I  should  accept  my  cue  from  you. 
I  accept  it.  I  understand  that  at  Christmas  they  will  complete 
their  preparations  for  May,  and  that  their  marriage  will  be  put 
in  final  train  by  themselves," and  that  nothing  will  remain  for  us 
but  to  put  ourselves  in  train  also,  and  have  everything  ready  for 
our  formal  release  from  our  trusts  on  Edwin's  birthday." 

"That  is 'my  understanding,"  assented  Mr.  Grewgious,  as 
they  shook  hands  to  part.     "  God  bless  them  both  !  " 

"  God  save  them  both  !  "   cried  Jasper. 

"  I  said,  bless  them,"  remarked  the  former,  looking  back 
over  his  shoulder. 


88  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDIVIN  DROOD. 

"  I  said,  save  them,"  returned  the  latter.    "  Is  there  any  dif- 
ference ?  " 


CHAPTER   X. 

Smoothing  the   Way. 


|T  has  been  often  enough  remarked  that  women  have  a 
curious  power  of  divining  the  characters  of  men,  which 
would  seem  to  be  innate  and  instinctive  ;  seeing  that 
it  is  arrived  at  through  no  patient  process  of  reason- 
ing, that  it  can  give  no  satisfactory  or  sufficient  account  of  it- 
self, and  that  it  pronounces  in  the  most  confident  manner  even 
against  accumulated  observation  on  the  part  of  the  other  sex. 
But  it  has  not  been  quite  so  often  remarked  that  this  power 
(fallible,  like  every  other  human  attribute)  is  for  the  most  part 
absolutely  incapable  of  self-revision  ;  and  that  when  it  has  de- 
livered an  adverse  opinion  which  by  all  human  lights  is  subse- 
quently proved  to  have  failed,  it  is  u  indistinguishable  from 
prejudice,  in  respect  of  its  determination  not  to  be  corrected. 
Nay,  the  very  possibility  of  contradiction  or  disproof,  however 
remote,  communicates  to  this  feminine  judgment  from  the  first, 
in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the  weakness  attendant  on  the  testi- 
mony of  an  interested  witness  ;  so  personally  and  strongly  does 
the  fair  diviner  connect  herself  with  her  divination. 

"  Now,  don't  you  think,  Ma  dear,"  said  the  Minor  Canon  to 
his  mother  one  day  as  she  sat  at  her  knitting  in  his  little  book- 
room,  "  that  you  are  rather  hard  on  Mr.  Neville  ?" 

"  No,  I  do  not,  Sept,"  returned  the  old  lady. 

"  Let  us  discuss  it,  Ma." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  discuss  it,  Sept.  I  trust,  my  deai, 
T  am  always  open  to  discussion."  There  was  a  vibration  in 
the  old  lady's  cap,  as  though  she  internally  added,  "  And  I 
should  like  to  see  the  discussion  that  would  change  my  mind  !  " 

"Very  good,  Ma,"  said  her  conciliatory  son.  "There  is 
nothing  like  being  open  to  discussion." 

"  1  hope  not,  my  dear,"  returned  the  old  lady,  evidently  shut 
to  it. 

"  Well  !  Mr.  Neville,  on  that  unfortunate  occasion,  com 
mits  himself  under  provocation." 

"  And  under  mulled  wine,"  added  the  old  lady. 


SMOOTHING    THE    WAY. 


89 


"I  must  admit  the  wine.  Though  I  believe  the  two  young 
men  were  much  alike  in  that  regard. 

"  I  don't  !  "   said  the  old  lady. 

''Why  not,  Ma?" 

"Because  I  dont"  said  the  old  lady.  "Still,  I  am  quite 
open  to  discussion." 

•k  But,  my  dear  Ma,  I  cannot  see  how  we  are  to  discuss,  if 
you  take  that  line." 

"  Blame  Mr.  Neville  for  it,  Sept,  and  not  me,"  said  the  old 
lady  with  stately  severity. 

"  My  dear  Ma  !     Why  Mr.  Neville  ?  " 

"Because,"  said  Mrs.  Cnsparkle,  retiring  on  first  principles, 
"he  came  home  intoxicated,  and  did  great  discredit  to  this 
house,  and  showed  great  disrespect  to  this  family." 

"That  is  not  to  be  denied,  Ma.  He  was  then,  and  is  now, 
very  sorry  for  it." 

"  But  for  Mr.  Jaspers  well-bred  consideration  in  coming  up 
to  me  next  day,  after  service,  in  the  Nave  itself,  with  his  gown 
still  on,  and  expressing  his  hope  that  I  had  not  been  greatly 
alarmed  or  had  my  rest  violently  broken,  1  believe  1  might 
never  have  heard  of  that  disgraceful  transaction,"  said  the  old 
lady. 

"  To  be  candid,  Ma,  I  think  I  should  have  kept  it  from  you 
if  I  could,  though  I  had  not  decidedly  made  up  my  mind.  I 
was  following  Jasper  out  to  confer  with  him  on  the  subject,  and 
to  consider  the  expediency  of  his  and  my  jointly  hushing  the 
thing  up  on  all  accounts,  when  1  found  him  speaking  to  you. 
Then  it  was  too  late." 

"Too  late,  indeed,  Sept.  He  was  still  as  pale  as  gentle- 
manly ashes  at  what  had  taken  place  in  his  rooms  over  night." 

"  If  I  had  kept  it  from  you,  Ma,  you  may  be  sure  it  would 
have  been  for  your  peace  and  quiet,  and  for  the  good  of  the 
young  men,  and  in  my  best  discharge  of  my  duty  according  to 
my  lights." 

The  old  lady  immediately  walked  across  the  room  and  kissed 
him,  saying,  "Of  course,  my  dear  Sept,  I  am  sure  of  that." 

"However,  it  became  the  town-talk,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
rubbing  his  ear,  as  his  mother  resumed  her  seat  and  her  knit- 
ting, "and  passed  out  of  my  power." 

"And  I  said  then,  Sept,"  returned  the  old  lady,  "that  I 
thought  ill  of  Mr.  Neville.  And  I  say  now,  that  I  think  ill  of 
Mr.  Neville.  And  I  said  then,  and  I  say  now,  that  I  hope  Mr. 
Neville  may  come  to  good,  but  I  don't  believe  he  will."  Here 
the  cap  vibrated  again,  considerably. 


po  THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DR00D. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  say  so,  Ma — " 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  so,  my  dear,"  interposed  the  old  lady, 
knitting  on  firmly,  "but  I  can't  help  it." 

"—For,"  pursued  the  Minor  Canon,  " it  is  undeniable  that 
Mr.  Neville  is  exceedingly  industrious  and  attentive,  and  tiiat 
he  improves  apace,  and  that  lie  has — I  hope  I  may  say — an 
attachment  to  me." 

"  There  is  no  merit  in  the  last  article,  my  dear,"  said  the  old 
lady,  quickly  ;  "and  if  he  says  there  is,  I  think  the  worse  of 
him  for  the  boast." 

"  But,  my  dear  Ma,  he  never  said  there  was." 

"Perhaps  not,"  returned  the  old  lady;  "still,  I  don't  see 
that  it  greatly  signifi     ." 

There  was  no  impatience  in  the  pleasant  look  with  which 
Mr.  Crisparkle  contemplated  the  pretty  old  piece  of  china  as  it 
knitted  ;  but  there  was,  certainly,  a  humorous  sense  of  its  not 
being  a  piece  of  china  to  argue  with  very  closely. 

"  Besides,  Sept.  Ask  yourself  what  he  would  be  without  his 
sister.  You  know  what  an  influence  she  has  over  him  ;  you 
know  what  a  capacity  she  has ;  you  know  that  whatever  he 
reads  with  you  he  reads  with  her.  Give  her  her  fair  share  of 
your  praise,  and  how  much  do  you  leave  for  him  ?" 

At  these  words  Mr.  Crisparkle  fell  into  a  little  revery,  in 
which  he  thought  of  several  things.  He  thought  of  the  times 
he  had  seen  the  brother  and  sister  together  in  deep  converse 
over  one  of  his  own  old  college  books;  now,  in  the  rimy  morn- 
ings, when  he  made  those  sharpened  pilgrimages  to  Cloisterham 
Weir  ;  now,  in  the  sombre  evenings,  when  he  faced  the  wind 
at  sunset,  having  climbed  his  favourite  outlook,  a  beetling  frag- 
ment of  monastery  ruin  ;  and  the  two  studious  figures  passed 
below  him  along  the  margin  of  the  river,  in  which  the  town  fires 
and  lights  already  shone,  making  the  landscape  bleaker.  He 
thought  how  the  consciousness  had  stolen  upon  him  that,  in 
teaching  one,  he  was  teaching  two  ;  and  how  he  had  almost  in- 
sensibly adapted  his  explanations  to  both  minds, — that  with 
which  his  own  was  daily  in  contact,  and  that  which  he  Only  ap- 
proached through  it.  He  thought  of  the  gossip  that  had 
reached  him  from  the  Nuns'  House,  to  the  effect  that  Helena, 
whom  he  had  mistrusted  as  so  prowd  and  fierce,  submitted  her- 
self to  the  fairy-bride  (as  he  called  her),  and  learnt  from  her 
what  she  knew.  He  thought  of  the  picturesque  alliance  be- 
tween those  two,  externally  so  very  different.  He  thought — 
perhaps  most  of  all — could  it  be  that  these  things  were  yet  but 
so  many  weeks  old,  and  had  become  an  integral  part  of  his  life  ? 


SMOOTHING    THE    WAY. 


91 


As,  whenever  the  Reverend  Septimus  fell  a-niusing,  his  good 
mother  took  it  to  be  an  infallible  sign  that  he  "wanted  sup- 
port,." the  blooming  old  lady  made  all  haste  to  the  dining-room 
closet,  to  produce  from  it  the  support  embodied  in  a  glass  of 
Consfantia  and  a  home-made  bisctnt."™"  It  was  a  most  wonder- 
ful closet,  worthy  of  Cloisterham  and  of  Minor  Canon  Corner. 
/I Above  it,  a  portrait  of  Handel  in  a  flowing  wig  beamed  down 
'fat  the  spectator,  with  a  knowing  air  of  being  up  to  the  contents 
of  the  closet,  and  a  musical  air  of  intending  to  combine  all  its 
I  harmonies  in  one  delicious  fugue.  No  common  closet  with  a 
1  vulgar  door  on  hinges,  openable  all  at  once,  and  leaving  noth- 
ing to  be  disclosed  by  degrees,  this  rare  closet  had  a  lock  in 
mid-air,  where  two  perpendicular  slides  met  ;  the  one  falling 
down,  and  the  other  pushing  up.  The  upper  slide,. on  being 
pulled  down  (leaving  the  lower  a  double  mystery),  revealed 
deep  shelves  of  pickle-jars,  jam-pots,  tin  canisters,  spice-boxes, 
and  agreeably  outlandish  vessels  of  blue  and  white,  the  luscious 
lodgings  of  preserved  tamarinds  and  ginger.  Every  benevo- 
lent inhabitant  of  this  retreat  had  his  name  inscribed  upon  his 
stomach.  The  pickles,  in  a  uniform  of  rich  brown  double- 
breasted  buttoned  coat,  and  yellow  or  sombre  drab  continua- 
tions, announced  their  portly  forms,  in  printed  capitals,  as  Wal- 
nut, Gherkin,  Onion,  Cabbage,  Cauliflower,  Mixed,  and  other 
members  of  that  noble  family.  The  jams,  as  being  of  a  less 
masculine  temperament,  and  as  wearing  curl-papers,  announced 
themselves  in  feminine  caligraphy,  like  a  soft  whisper,  to  be 
Raspberry,  Gooseberry,  Apricot,  Plum,  Damson,  Apple,  and 
Peach.  The  scene  closing  on  these  charmers,  and  the  lower 
slide  ascending,  oranges  were  revealed,  attended  by  a  mighty 
japanned  sugar-box,  to  temper  their  acerbity  if  unripe.  Home- 
made buscuits  awaited  at  the  Court  of  these  Powers,  accompa- 
nied by  a  goodly  fragment  of  plum-cake,  and  various  slender 
ladies'  fingers,  to  be  dipped  into  sweet  wine  and  kissed.  Low- 
est of  all,  a  compact  leaden  vault  enshrined  the  sweet  wine  and 
a  stock  of  cordials  :  whence  issued  whispers  of  Seville  Orange, 
Lemon,  Almond,  and  Caraway-seed.  There  was  a  crowning 
air  upon  this  closet  of  closets,  of  having  been  for  ages  hummed 
through  by  the  Cathedral  bell  and  organ,  until  those  venerable 
bees  had  made  sublimated  honey  of  everything  in  store  ;  and  it 
was  always  observed  that  every  dipper  among  the  shelves  (deep, 
as  has  been  noticed,  and  swallowing  up  head,  shoulders,  and 
elbows)  came  forth  again  mellow-faced,  and  seeming  to  have 
undergone  a  saccharine  transfiguration. 

The  Reverend  Septimus  yielded  himself  up  quite  as  willing  a 


92 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


victim  to  a  nauseous  medicinal  herb-closet,  also  presided  over 
by  the  china  shepherdess,  as  to  ibis  glorious  cupboard.  To 
what  amazing  infusions  of  gentian,  peppermint ,  gilli'flower,  sage, 
parsley,  thyme,  rue,  rosemary,  and  dandelion,  did  bis  coura- 
geous stomach  submit  itself!  in  what  wonderful  wrappers 
enclosing  layers  of  dried  leaves,  would  he  swathe  his  rosy  and 
contented  face,  if  his  mother  suspected  him  of  a  toothache  ! 
What  botanical  blotches  would  he  cheerfully  stick  upon  bis 
cheek,  or  forehead,  if  the  dear  old  lady  convicted  him  of  an 
imperceptible  pimple  there  !  Into  this  herbaceous  peniten- 
tiary, situated  on  an  upper  staircase-landing, — a  low  and  narrow 
whitewashed  cell,  where  bunches  of  dried  leaves  hung  from 
rusty  hooks  in  the  ceiling,  and  were  spread  out  upon  shelves, 
in  company  with  portentous  bottles, — would  the  Reverend 
Septimus  submissively  be  led,  like  the  highly  popular  lamb  who 
lias  so  long  and  unresistingly  been  led  to  the  slaughter,  and 
there  would  he,  unlike  that  lamb,  bore  nobody  but  himself. 
Not  even  doing  that  much,  so  that  the  old  lady  were  busy  and 
pleased,  he  would  quietly  swallow  what  was  given  him,  merely 
taking  a  corrective  dip  of  hands  and  face  into  the  great  bowl  of 
dried  rose-leaves,  and  into  the  other  great  bowl  of  dried  laven- 
der, and  then  would  go  out,  as  confident  in  the  sweetening 
powers  of  Cloisterham  Weir  and  a  wholesome  mind,  as  Lady 
Macbeth  was  hopeless  of  those  of  all  the  seas  that  roll. 

In  the  present  instance,  the  good  Minor  Canon  took  his  glass 
of  Constantia  with  an  excellent  grace,  and,  so  supported  to  his 
mother's  satisfaction,  applied  himself  to  the  remaining  duties  of 
the  day.  In  their  orderly  and  punctual  progress  they  brought 
round  Vesper  Service  and  twilight.  The  Cathedral  being  very 
cold,  be  set  off  for  a  brisk  trot  after  service  ;  the  trot  to  end  in 
a  charge  at  his  favourite  fragment  of  ruin,  which  was  to  be  car- 
ried by  storm,  without  a  pause  for  breath. 

He  carried  it  in  a  masterly  manner,  and,  not  breathed  even 
then,  stood  looking  down  upon  the  river.  The  river  at  Clois- 
terham is  sufficiently  near  the  sea  to  throw  up  oftentimes  a  quan- 
tity of  sea-weed.  An  unusual  quantity  had  come  in  with  the 
last  tide,  and  this,  and  the  confusion  of  the  water,  and  the  rest- 
less dipping  and  flapping  of  the  noisy  gulls,  and  an  angry  light 
out  seaward  beyond  the  brown-sailed  barges  that  were  turning 
black,  foreshadowed  a  stormy  night.  In  his  mind  he  was  con- 
trasting the  wild  andnoisy  sea  with  the  quiet  harbour  of  Minor 
Canon  Corner,  when  Helena  and  Neville  Landless  passed 
below  him.  He  had  had  the  two  together  in  his  thoughts 
all  day,  and  at  once  climbed  down  to  speak  to  them  together. 


SMOOTHING    THE    WAV. 


93 


The  footing  was  rough  in  an  uncertain  light  for  any  tread  save 
that  of  a  good  climber  ;  but  the  Minor  Canon  was  as  good  a 
climber  as  most  men,  and  stood  beside  them  before  many  good 
climbers  would  have  been  half-way  clown. 

••  A  wild  evening,  Miss  Landless!  Do  you  not  find  your 
usual  walk  with  your  brother  too  exposed  and  cold  for  the  time 
of  year  ?  Or  at  ail  events,  when  the  sun  is  down,  and  the 
weather  is  driving  in  from  the  sea?'' 

Helena  thought  not.  It  was  their  favourite  walk.  It  was 
very  retired. 

"  It  is  very  retired,"  assented  Mr.  Crisparkle,  laying  hold  of 
his  opportunity  straightway,  and  walking  on  with  them.  "It  is 
a  place  of  all  others  where  one  can  speak  without  interruption, 
as  I  wish  to  do.  Mr.  Neville,  I  believe  you  tell  your  sister 
everything  that  passes  between  us  ?  " 

"  Everything,  sir." 

"Consequently,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "  your  sister  is  aware 
that  I  have  repeatedly  urged  you  to  make  some  kind  of  apology 
for  that  unfortunate  occurrence  which  befel,  on  the  night  of 
your  arrival  here." 

In  saving  it  he  looked  to  her,  and  not  to  him  ;  therefore  it 
was  she,  and  not  he  who  replied, 

"Yes." 

"  I  call  it  unfortunate,  Miss  Helena,"  resumed  Mr.  Crispar- 
kle, "forasmuch  as  it  certainly  has  engendered  a  prejudice  against 
Neville.  There  is  a  notion  about  that  he  is  a  dangerously  pas- 
sionate fellow,  of  an  uncontrollable  and  furious  temper  ;  he  is 
really  avoided  as  such." 

"I  have  no  doubt  he  is,  poor  fellow,"  said  Helena,  with  a 
look  of  proud  compassion  at  her  brother,  expressing  a  deep 
sense  of  his  being  ungenerously  treated.  "  I  should  be  quite 
sure  of  it,  from  your  saying  so  ;  but  what  you  tell  me  is  con- 
firmed by  suppressed  hints  and  references  that  I  meet  with 
every  day." 

"  Now,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  again  resumed,  in  a  tone  of  mild 
though  firm  persuasion,  "  is  not  this  to  be  regretted,  and  ought 
it  not  to  be  amended  ?  These  are  early  days  of  Neville's  in 
Cloisterham,  and  I  have  no  fear  of  his  not  outliving  such  a 
prejudice,  and  proving  himself  to  have  been  misunderstood. 
But  how  much  wiser  to  take  action  at  once  than  to  trust  to 
uncertain  time  !  Besides,  apart  from  its  being  politic,  it  is 
right.     For  there  can  be  no  question  that  Neville  was  wrong." 

"  He  was  provoked,"  Helena  submitted. 

"  He  was  the  assailant,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  submitted. 


94 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


They  walked  on  in  silence,  until  Helena  raised  her  eyes  to 
the  Minor  Canon's  face,  and  said,  almost  reproachfully,  "O 
Mr.  Crisparkle,  would  you  have  Neville  throw  himself  at  young 
Drood's  feet,  or  at  Mr.  Jasper's,  who  maligns  him  every  day  ! 
In  your  heart  you  cannot  mean  it.  From  your  heart  you  could 
not  do  it,  if  his  case  were  yours." 

"  I  have  represented  to  Mr.  Crisparkle,  Helena,''  said  Neville, 
with  a  glance  of  deference  towards  his  tutor,  "that  if  1  could 
do  it  from  my  heart  I  would.  Hut  I  cannot,  and  I  revolt  fro  n 
die  pretence.  You  forget,  however,  that  to  put  the  case  to  Mr. 
Crisparkle  as  his  own,  is  to  suppose  Mr.  Crisparkle  to  have  done 
what  I  did." 

"  I  ask  his  pardon,"  said  Helena. 

"  You  see,"  remarked  Mr.  Crisparkle,  again  laying  hold  of 
his  opportunity,  though  with  a  moderate  and  delicate  touch, 
"  you  both  instinctively  acknowledge  that  Neville  did  wrong! 
Then  why  stop  short,  and  not  otherwise  acknowledge  it?" 

"Is  there  no  difference,"  asked  Helena,  with  a  little  faltering 
in  her  manner,  "  between  submission  to  a  generous  spirit,  and 
submission  to  a  base  or  trivial  one?" 

Before  the  worthy  Minor  Canon  was  quite  ready  with  his  ar- 
gument in  reference  to  this  nice  distinction,  Neville  struck  in, 

"  Help  me  to  clear  myself  with  Mr.  Crisparkle,  Helena. 
Help  me  to  convince  him  that  I  cannot  be  the  first  to  make 
concessions  without  mockery  and  falsehood.  My  nature  must 
be  changed  before  I  can  do  so,  and  it  is  not  changed.  I  am 
sensible  of  inexpressible  affront,  and  deliberate  aggravation  of 
inexpressible  affront,  and  I  am  angry.  The  plain  truth  is,  I  am 
still  as  angry  when  I  recall  that  night  as  I  was  that  night." 

"  Neville,"  hinted  the  Minor  Canon,  with  a  steady  counte- 
nance, "  you  have  repeated  that  former  action  of  your  hands, 
which  I  so  much  dislike." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,  sir,  but  it  was  involuntary.  I  confessed 
that  I  was  still  as  angry." 

"  And  I  confess,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "  that  I  hoped  for 
better  things." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  sir,  but  it  would  be  far  worse 
to  deceive  you,  and  I  should  deceive  you  grossly  if  I  pretended 
that  you  had  softened  me  in  this  respect.  The  time  may  come 
when  your  powerful  influence  will  do  even  that  with  the  difficult 
pupil  whose  antecedents  you  know  ;  but  it  has  not  come  yet. 
Is  this  so,  and  in  spite  of  my  struggles  against  myself,  Hel- 
ena?" 

She,  whose  dark  eyes  were  watching  the  effect  of  what  he 


SMOOTHING    THE   WAY. 


95 


said  on  Mr.  Crisparkle's  face,  replied — to  Mr.  Crisparkle,  not 
to  him,  <;  It  is  so."  After  a  short  pause,  she  answered  the 
slightest  look  of  inquiry  conceivable,  in  her  brother's  eyes,  with 
as  slight  an  affirmative  bend  of  her  own  head  ;  and  he  went 
on  : 

"  I  have  never  yet  had  the  courage  to  say  to  you,  sir,  what 
1.1  full  openness  I  ought  to  have  said  when  you  first  talked  with 
me  on  this  subject.  It  is  not  easy  to  say,  and  I  have  been 
withheld  by  a  fear  of  its  seeming  ridiculous,  which  is  very  strong 
upon  me  down  to  this  last  moment,  and  might,  but  for  my  sis- 
ter, prevent  my  being  quite  open  with  you  even  now. — 1  ad- 
mire Miss  Bud,  sir,  so  very  much,  that  I  cannot  bear  her  being 
treated  with  conceit  or  indifference  ;  and  even  if  I  did  not  feel 
that  1  had  an  injury  against  young  Drood  on  my  own  account, 
I  should  feel  that  I  had  an  injury  against  him  on  hers." 

Mr.  Crisparkle,  in  utter  amazement,  looked  at  Helena  for 
corroboration,  and  met  in  her  expressive  face  full  corroboiation, 
and  a  plea  for  advice. 

v  "  The' young  lady  of  whom  you  speak  is,  as  you  know,  Air. 
Neville,  shortly  to  be  married,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  gravel}' ; 
V  therefore  your  admiration,  if  it  be  of  that  special  nature 
which  you  seem  to  indicate,  is  outrageously  misplaced.  More- 
over, it  is  monstrous  that  you  should  take  upon  yourself  to  be 
the  young  lady's  champion  against  her  chosen  husband.  Be- 
sides, you  have  seen  them  only  once.  The  young  lady  has  be- 
come your  sister's  friend  ;  and  I  wonder  that  your  sister,  even 
on  her  behalf,  has  not  checked  you  in  this  irrational  and  culpa- 
ble fancy." 

"  She  has  tried,  sir,  but  uselessly.  Husband  or  no  husband, 
that  fellow  is  incapable  of  the  feeling  with  which  I  am  inspired 
towards  the  beautiful  young  creature  whom  he  treats  like  a  doll. 
I  say  he  is  as  incapable  of  it  as  he  is  unworthy  of  her.  I  say 
she  is  sacrificed  in  being  bestowed  upon  him.  I  say  that  I  love 
her,  and  despise  and  hate  him  !"  This  with  a  face  so  flushed, 
and  a  gesture  so  violent,  that  his  sister  crossed  to  his  side  and 
caught  his  arm,  remonstrating,  "  Neville,  Neville  !"    v  «v* 

Thus  recalled  to  himself,  he  quickly  became  sensible  of  hav- 
ing lost  the  guard  he  had  set  upon  his  passionate  tendency,  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hand,  as  one  repentant  and  wretched. 

Mi-.  Crisparkle,  watching  him  attentively,  and  at  the  same 
time  meditating  how  to  proceed,  walked  on  for  some  paces  in 
silence.     Then  he  spoke  : 

"Mr.  Neville,  Mr.  Neville,  I  am  sorely  grieved  .to  see  in  you 
more  traces  of  a  character  as  sullen,  angry,  and  wild,   as  the 


96  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

night  now  closing  in.  They  are  of  too  serious  an  aspect  to 
leave  me  the  resource  of  treating  the  infatuation  you  have  dis- 
closed as  undeserving  serious  consideration.  I  give  it  very  se- 
rious consideration,  and  1  speak  to  you  accordingly.  This  feud 
between  you  and  young  Drood  must  not  go  on.  1  cannot  per- 
mit it  to  go  on  any  longer,  knowing  what  I  now  know  from 
you,  and  you  living  under  my  roof.  Whatever  prejudiced  and 
unauthorized  constructions  your  blind  and  envious  wrath  may 
put  upon  his  character,  it  is  a  frank,  good-natured  character. 
1  know  1  can  trust  to  it  for  that.  Now,  pray  observe  what  I 
am  about  to  say.  On  reflection,  and  on  your  sister's  represen- 
tation, I  am  willing  to  admit  that,  in  making  peace  with  young 
Drood,  you  have  a  right  to  be  met  half-way.  I  will  engage 
that  you  shall  be,  and  even  that  young  Drood  shall  make  the 
fust  advance.  This  condition  fulfilled,  you  will  pledge  me  the 
honour  of  a  Christian  gentleman  that  the  quarrel  is  forever  at 
an  end  on  your  side.  What  may  be  in  your  heart  when  you 
give  him  your  hand,  can  only  be  known  to  the  Searcher  of  all 
hearts  ;  but  it  will  never  go  well  with  you  if  there  be  any  treach- 
ery there.  So  far,  as  to  that;  next  as  to  what  I  must  again 
speak  of  as  your  infatuation.  I  understand  it  to  have  been 
confided  to  me,  and  to  be  known  to  no  other  person  save  your 
sister  and  yourself.     Do  I  understand  aright?" 

Helena  answered  in  a  low  voice,  "It  is  only  known  to  us 
three  who  are  here  together." 

"  It  is  not  at  all  known  to  the  young  lady,  your  friend?" 
"  On  my  soul,  no  !  "  , 

"  1  require  you,  then,  to  give  me  your  similar  and  solemn 
pledge,  Mr.  Neville,  that  it  shall  remain  the  secret  it  is,  and  that 
you  will  take  no  other  action  whatsoever  upon  it  than  endeav- 
ouring (and  that  most  earnestly)  to  erase  it  from  your  mind.  I 
will  not  tell  you  that  it  will  soon  pass  ;  I  will  not  tell  you  that 
it  is  the  fancy  of  the  moment  ;  I  will  not  tell  you  that  such 
caprices  have  their  rise  and  fall  among  the  young  and  ardent 
every  hour;  1  will  leave  you  undisturbed  in  the  belief  that  it 
has  few  parallels  or  none,  that  it  will  abide  with  you  a  long  time, 
and  that  it  will  be  very  difficult  to  conquer.  So  much  the  more 
weight  shall  I  attach  to  the  pledge  I  require  from  you,  when  it 
is  unreservedly  given." 

The  young  man  twice  or  thrice  essayed  to  speak,  but  failed. 
"  Let  me  leave  you  with  your  sister,  whom  it  is  time  you  took 
home,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle.      "  You  will  find  me  alone  in  my 
room  by  and  by." 


SMOOTHING    THE  WAY.  97 

"  Pray  do  not  leave  us  yet,"  Helena  implored  him.  "Another 
minute." 

"  I  should  not,"  said  Neville,  pressing  his  hand  upon  his  face, 
"  have  needed  so  much  as  another  minute,  if  you  had  been  less 
patient  with  me,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  less  considerate  of  me,  and 
less  unpretendingly  good  and  true.  O,  if  in  my  childhood  I 
had  known  such  a  guide  !  " 

"  Follow  your  guide  now,  Neville,"  murmured  Helena,  "  and 
follow  him  to  Heaven  i  " 

There  was  that  in  her  tone  which  broke  the  good  Minor 
Canon's  voice,  or  it  would  have  repudiated  her  exaltation  of 
him.  As  it  was,  he  laid  a  finger  on  his  lips,  and  looked  towards 
her  brother. 

"  To  say  that  I  give  both  pledges,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  out  of  my 
innermost  heart,  and  to  say  that  there  is  no  treachery  in  it,  is 
to  say  nothing  !  "  Thus  Neville,  greatly  moved.  "  I  beg  your 
forgiveness  for  my  miserable  lapse  into- a  burst  of  passion." 

"  Not  mine,  Neville,  not  mine.  You  know  with  whom  for- 
giveness lies  as  the  highest  attribute  conceivable.  Miss  Hel- 
ena, you  and  your  brother  are  twin  children.  You  came  into 
this  world  with  the  same  dispositions,  and  you  passed  your 
younger  days  together  surrounded  by  the  same  adverse  circum- 
stances. What  you  have  overcome  in  yourself,  can  you  not 
overcome  in  him  ?  You  see  the  rock  that  lies  in  his  course. 
Who  but  you  can  keep  him  clear  of  it?  " 

'•  Who  but  you,  sir?"  replied  Helena.  "What  is  my  influ- 
ence or  my  weak  wisdom,  compared  with  yours  !  " 

"  You  have  the  wisdom  of  Love,"  returned  the  Minor  Canon, 
"  and  it  was  the  highest  wisdom  ever  known  upon  this  earth, 
remember.  As  to  mine — but  the  less  said  of  that  commonplace 
commodity  the  better.      Good  night  1" 

She  took  the  hand  he  offered  her,  and  gratefully  and  almost 
reverently  raised  it  to  her  lips. 

"  Tut  !  "  said  the  Minor  Canon,  softly,  "  I  am  much  over- 
paid !  "  and  turned  away. 

Retracing  his  steps  towards  the  Cathedral  Close,  he  tried,  as 
he  went  along  in  the  dark,  to  think  out  the  best  means  of 
bringing  to  pass  what  he  had  promised  to  effect,  and  what  must 
somehow  be  done.  "  I  shall  probably  be  asked  to  marry  them," 
he  reflected,  "  and  I  would  they  were  married  and  gone  !  But 
this  presses  first."  He  debated  principally,  whether  he  would 
write  to  young  Drood,  or  whether  he  should  speak  to  Jasper. 
The  consciousness  of  being  popular  with  the  whole  Cathedral 
establishment  inclined  him  to  the  latter  course,  and  the  well- 
5 


gS  THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

timed  sight  of  the  lighted  Gate-house  decided  him  to  take  it 
"I  will  strike  while  the  iron  is  hot,"  he  said,  "  and  see  him 
now." 

Jasper  was  lying  asleep  on  a  couch  before  the  fire,  when, 
having  ascended  the  postern-stair,  and  received  no  answer  to  his 
knock  at  the  door,  Mr.  Crisparkle  gently  turned  the  handle  and 
looked  in.  Long  afterwards  he  had  cause  to  remember  how 
Jasper  sprang  from  the  couch  in  a  a  delirious  state  between 
sleeping  and  waking,  crying  out,  "  What  is  the  matter?  Who 
did  it  ?  " 

"It  is  only  I,  Jasper.      I  am  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you." 

The  glare  of  iiis  eyes  settled  down  into  a  look  of  recognition, 
and  he  moved  a  chair  or  two,  to  make  a  way  to  the  fireside. 

"  I  was  dreaming  at  a  great  rate,  and  am  glad  to  he  disturbed 
from  an  indigestive  after-dinner  sleep.  Not  to  mention  that 
you  are  always  welcome." 

"Thank  you.  1  am  not  confident,"  returned  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
as  he  sat  down  in  the  easy-chair  placed  for  him,  "  that  my  sub- 
ject will  at  first  sight  be  quite  as  welcome  as  myself;  but  I  am 
a  minister  of  the  peace,  and  I  pursue  my  subject  in  the  interests 
of  peace.  In  a  word,  jasper,  1  want  to  establish  peace  between 
these  two  young  fellows." 

A  very  perplexed  expression  took  hold  of  Mr.  Jasper's  face  ; 
a  very  perplexing  expression  too,  for  Mr.  Crisparkle  could  make 
nothing  of  it. 

"How?"  was  Jasper's  inquiry,  in  alow  and  slow  voice,  after 
a  silence. 

"  For  the  'How'  I  come  to  you.  I  want  to  ask  you  to  do 
me  the  great  favour  and  service  of  interposing  with  your  nephew 
(I  have  already  interposed  with  Mr.  Neville),  and  getting  him 
to  write  you  a  short  note,  in  his  lively  way,  saying  that  he  is 
willing  to  shake  hands.  I  know  what  a  good-natured  fellow  he 
is,  and  what  influence  you  have  with  him.  And  without  in  the 
least  defending  Mr.  Neville,  we  must  all  admit  that  he  was  bit- 
terly stung." 

Jasper  turned  that  perplexed  face  towards  the  fire.  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  continuing  to  observe  it,  found  it  even  more  per- 
plexing than  before,  inasmuch  as  it  seemed  to  denote  (which 
could  hardly  be)  some  close  internal  calculation. 

"  1  know  that  you  are  not  prepossessed  in  Mr.  Neville's 
favour,"  the  Minor  Canon  was  going  on,  when  Jasper  stopped 
him  : 

"  You  have  cause  to  say  so.     1  am  not,  indeed." 

"  Undoubtedly,  and  I  admit  his  lamentable  violence  of  tern- 


SMOOTHING    THE  WAY.  99 

per,  though  I  hope  he  and  1  will  get  the  better  of  it  between 
us.  But  I  have  exacted  a  very  solemn  promise  from  him  as  to 
his  future  demeanour  towards  your  nephew,  if  you  do  kindly  in- 
terpose; and  I  am  sure  he  will  keep  it." 

"  You  are  always  responsible  and  trustworthy,  Mr.  Crisparkle. 
Do  you  really  feel  sure  that  you  can  answer  for  him  so  confi- 
dently ?  " 

'•I  do." 

The  perplexed  and  perplexing  look  vanished. 

''Then  you  relieve  my  mind  of  a  great  dread  and  a  heavy 
weight,"  said  Jasper;   "I  will  do  it." 

Mr.  Crisparkle,  delighted  by  the  swiftness  and  completeness 
of  his  success,  acknowledged  it  in  the  handsomest  terms. 

"  I  will  do  it,"  repeated  Jasper,  "  for  the  comfort  of  having 
your  guaranty  against  my  vague  and  unfounded  fears.  You 
will  laugh, — but  do  you  keep  a  Diary  ?  " 

"A  line  for  a  day  ;  not  more." 

"  A  line  for  a  day  would  be  quite  as  much  as  my  uneventful 
life  would  need,  Heaven  knows,"  said  Jasper,  taking  a  book 
from  a  desk;  "but  that  my  Diary  is,  in  fact,  a  Diary  of  Ned's 
life  too.  You  will  laugh  at  this  entry ;  you  will  guess  when  it 
was  made  : 

"  '  Past  midnight.  —  After  what  I  have  just  now  seen,  I  have  a 
morbid  dread  upon  me  of  some  horrible  consequences  resulting 
to  my  dear  boy,  that  I  cannot  reason  with  or  in  any  way  con- 
tend against.  All  my  efforts  are  vain.  The  demoniacal  passion 
af  this  Neville  Landless,  his  strength  in  his  fury,  and  his  savage 
rage  for  the  destruction  of  its  object,  appall  me.  So  profound 
is  the  impression,  that  twice  since  have  I  gone  into  my  dear 
boy's  room,  to  assure  myself  of  his  sleeping  safely,  and  not  lying 
dead  in  his  blood.' 

"  Here  is  another  entry  next  morning  : 

"  '  Ned  up  and  away.  Light-hearted  and  unsuspicious  as 
ever.  He  laughed  when  1  cautioned  him,  and  said  he  was  as 
good  a  man  as  Neville  Landless  any  day.  I  told  him  that  he 
might  be,  but  he  was  not  as  bad  a  man.  He  continued  to 
make  light  of  it,  but  1  travelled  with  him  as  far  as  I  could,  and 
left  him  most  unwillingly.  I  am  unable  to  shake  off  these  in- 
tangible presentiments  of  evil,— if  feelings  founded  upon  staring 
facts  are  to  be  so  called.' 


100  THE    MYSTERY    Of  EDWIN  DR00D. 

"  Again  and  again,"  said  Jasper,  in  conclusion,  twirling  the 
leaves  of  the  book  before  putting  it  by,  "  I  have  relapsed  into 
these  moods,  as  other  entries  show.  But  I  have  now  your  as- 
surance at  my  back,  and  shall  put  it  in  my  book,  and  make  it 
an  antidote  to  my  black  humours." 

'•Such  an  antidote,  I  hope,"  returned  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "as 
will  induce  you  before  long  to  consign  the  black  humours  to  the 
flames.  1  ought  to  be  the  last  to  find  any  fault  with  you  this 
evening,  when  you  havfe  met  my  wishes  so  freely  ;  but  I  must 
say-  Jasper,  that  your  devotion  to  your  nephew  has  made  you 
exaggerative  here." 

'"  You  are  my  witness,"  said  Jasper,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
"what  my  state  of  mind  honestly   was,  that  night,  before   J    sat 
down  to  write,  and  in  what  words  I  expressed  it.     You  remem-^ 
ber  objecting  to  a  word  I  used,  as  being  too  strong?     It  was  a 
stronger  word  than  any  in  my  Diary." 

"  Well,  well.  Try  the  antidote,"  returned  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
"  and  may  it  give  you  a  brighter  and  better  view  of  the  case  ! 
We  will  discuss  it  no  more  now.  I  have  to  thank  you  for  my- 
self, and  1  thank  you   sincerely." 

"You  shall  find,"  said  Jasper,  as  they  shook  hands,  "that  I 
will  not  do  the  thing  you  wish  me  to  do  by  halves.  I  will  take 
care  that  Ned,  giving  away  at  all,  shall  give  way  thoroughly." 

On  the  third  day  after  this  conversation,  he  called  on  Mr. 
Crisparkle  with  the  following  letter  : 

"  My  Dear  Jack, 

"  I  am  touched  by  your  account  of  your  interview  with  Mr. 
Crisparkie,  whom  I  much  respect,  and  esteem.  At  once  I 
openly  say  that  I  forgot  myself  on  that  occasion  quite  as  much 
as  Mr.  Landless  did,  and  that  1  wish  that  bygone  to  be  a  by- 
gone, and  all  to  be  right  again. 

"  Look  here,  dear  old  boy.  Ask  Mr.  Landless  to  dinner  on 
Christmas  Eve  (the  better  the  day  the  better  the  deed),  and  let 
there  be  only  we  three,  and  let  us  shake  hands  all  round  there 
and  then,  and  say  no  more  about  it. 

"  My  dear  Jack, 

"  Ever  your  most  affectionate, 

"  Edwin   Drood." 

"  P.  S.  -Love  to  Miss  Pussy  at  the  next  music  lesson." 

"You  expect  Mr.  Neville,  then?"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 
"  I  count  upon  his  coming,"  said  Mr.  Jasper. 


A  PICTURE  AND  A   RING,  tqj. 

CHAPTER   XL 

A  Picture  and  a  Ring. 

H|]EHIND  the  most  ancient  part  of  Holborn,  London, 
where  certain  gabled  houses  some  centuries  of  age  still 
stand  looking  on  the  public  way,  as  if  disconsolately 
looking  for  the  Old  Bourne  that  has  long  run  dry,  is  a 
little  nook  composed  of  two  irregular  quadrangles,  called  Staple 
Inn.  It  is  one  of  those  nooks,  the  turning  into  which  out  of 
the  clashing  street  imparts  to  the  relieved  pedestrian  the  sensa- 
tion of  having  put  cotton  in  his  ears  and  velvet  soles  on  his 
boots.  It  is  one  of  those  nooks  where  a  few  smoky  sparrows 
twitter  in  smoky  trees,  as  though  they  called  to  one  another, 
"  Let  us  play  at  country,"  and  where  a  few  feet  of  garden  mould 
and  a  few  yards  of  gravel  enable  them  to  do  that  refreshing  vio- 
lence to  their  tiny  understandings.  Moreover,  it  is  one  of  those 
nooks  which  are  legal  nooks  ;  and  it  contains  a  little  Hall,  with 
a  little  lantern  in  its  roof;  to  what  obstructive  purposes  devoted, 
and  at  whose  expense,  this  history  knoweth  not. 

In  the  days  when  Cloisterham  took  offence  at  the  existence 
of  a  railroad  afar  oif,  as  menacing  that  sensirive  constitution, 
the  property  of  us  Britons;  the  odd  fortune  of  which  sacred  in- 
stitutions it  is  to  be  in  exactly  equal  degrees  croaked  about, 
trembled  for,  and  boasted  of,  whatever  happens  to  anything, 
anywhere  in  the  world  ;  in  those  days  no  neighbouring  archi- 
tecture of  lofty  proportions  had  arisen  to  overshadow  Staple 
Inn.  The  westering  sun  bestowed  bright  glances  on  it,  and 
the  southwest  wind  blew  into  it  unimpeded. 

Neither  wind  nor  sun,  however,  favoured  Staple  Inn,  one 
December  afternoon  towards  six  o'clock,  when  it  was  filled  with 
fog,  and  candles  shed  murky  and  blurred  rays  through  the  win- 
dows of  all  its  then-occupied  sets  of  chambers  ;  notably,  from  a 
set  of  chambers  in  a  corner  house  in  the  little  inner  quadrangle, 
presenting  in  black  and  white  over  its  ugly  portal  the  mysteri- 
ous inscription  : 

P 
J  T 

1747- 

In  which  set  of  chambers,  never  having  troubled  his  head  about 


102  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DR00D. 

.the  inscription,  unless  to  bethink  himself  at  odd  times  on  glanc- 
■ieg'up  at  it,  fttai  ba'ply  it  might  mean  Perhaps  John  Thomas,  or 
Perhaps  Joe  Tyler,  sat  Mr.  Grewgious  writing  by  his  fire. 

Who  could  have  told,  by  looking  at  Mr.  Grewgious,  whether 
he  had  ever  known  ambition  or  disappointment  ?  He  had  been 
bred  to  the  Par,  and  had  laid  himself  out  for  chamber  practice ; 
to  draw  deeds  ;  ''convey  the  wise  it  call,"  as  Pistol  says.  But 
conveyancing  and  he  had  made  such  a  very  indifferent  marriage 
of  it  that  they  had  separated  by  consent, — if  there  can  be  said 
to  be  separation  where  there  has  never  been  coming  together. 

No.  Coy  Conveyancing  would  not  come  to  Mr.  Grewgious. 
She  was  wooed,  not  won,  and  they  went  their  several  ways. 
But  an  Arbitration  being  blown  towards  him  by  some  unac- 
countable wind,  and  he  gaining  great  credit  in  it  as  one  inde- 
fatigable in  seeking  out  right  and  doing  right,  a  pretty  fat  Re- 
ceivership was  next  blown  into  his  pocket  by  a  wind  more 
traceable  to  its  source.  So,  by  chance,  he  had  found  his  niche. 
Receiver  and  Agent  now,  to  two  rich  estates,  and  deputing  their 
legal  business,  in  an  amount  worth  having,  to  a  firm  of  solici- 
tors on  the  floor  below,  he  had  snuffed  out  his  ambition  (sup- 
posing him  to  have  ever  lighted  it)  and  had  settled  down  with 
his  snuffers  for  the  rest  of  his  life  under  the  dry  vine  and  fig-tree 
of  P.  J.  T.,  who  planted  in  seventeen-forty-seven. 

Many  accounts  and  account  books,  many  files  of  correspond- 
ence, and  several  strong  boxes,  garnished  Mr.  Grewgions's 
room.  They  can  scarcely  be  represented  as  having  lumbered 
it,  so  conscientious  and  precise  was  their  orderly  arrangement. 
The  apprehension  of  dying  suddenly,  and  leaving  one  fact  or 
one  figure  with  any  incompleteness  or  obscurity  attaching  to  it, 
would  have  stretched  Mr.  Grewgious  stone  dead  any  day.  The 
largest  fidelity  to  a  trust  was  the  life-blood  of  the  man.  There 
are  sorts  of  life-blood  that  course  more  quickly,  more  gayly, 
more  attractively  ;  but  there  is  no  better  sort  in  circulation. 

There  was  no  luxury  in  his  room.  Even  its  comforts  were 
limited  to  its  being  dry  and  warm,  and  having  a  snug  though 
faded  fireside.  What  may  be  called  its  private  life  was  confined 
to  the  hearth,  and  an  easy-chair,  and  an  old-fashioned  occa- 
sional round  table  that  was  brought  out  upon  the  rug  after  busi- 
ness hours,  from  a  corner  where  it  elsewise  remained  turned  up 
like  a  shining  mahogany  shield.  Behind  it,  when  standing  thus 
on  the  defensive,  was  a  closet,  usually  containing  something 
good  to  drink.  An  outer  room  was  the  clerk's  room  ;  Mr. 
Grewgious' s  sleeping-room  was  across  the  common  stair ;  and 
he  held  some  not  empty  cellarage  at  the  bottom  of  the  common 


A    PIC  JURE   AND  A   KING. 


IO3 


stair.  Three  hundred  days  in  the  year,  at  least,  lie  ciossed  over 
to  the  hotel  in  Furnival's  Inn  for  his  dinner,  and  after  dinner 
crossed  back  again^  to  make  the  most  of  these  simplicities  until 
it  should  become  broad  business  day  once  more,  with  P.  J.  T., 
date  seven  teen-forty-seven. 

As  Mr.  Grewgious  sat  and  wrote  by  his  fire  that  afternoon, 
so  did  the  clerk  of  Mr.  Grewgious  sit  and  write  by  his  fire.  A 
pale,  puffy-faced,  dark-haired  person  of  thirty,  with  big  dark  eyes 
that  wholly  wanted  lustre,  and  a  dissatisfied,  doughy  complexion, 
that  seemed  to  ask  to  be  sent  to  the  baker's,  this  attendant  was 
a  mysterious  being,  possessed  of  some  strange  power  over  Mr. 
Grewgious.  As  though  he  had  been  called  into  exislence,  like 
a  fabuious  Familiar,  by  a  magic  spell  which  had  failed  when  re- 
quired to  dismiss  him,  he  stuck  tight  to  Mr.  Grewgious's  stool, 
ahhough  Mr.  Grewgious's  comfort  and  convenience  would  mani- 
festly have  been  advanced  by  dispossessing  him.  A  gloomy 
person  with  tangled  locks,  and  a  general  air  of  having  been 
reared  under  the  shadow  of  that  baleful  tree  of  Java  which  has 
given  shelter  to  more  lies  than  the  whole  botanical  kingdom, 
Mr.  Grewgious,  nevertheless,  treated  him  with  unaccountable 
consideration. 

"  Now,  Bazzard,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  on  the  entrance  of 
his  clerk,  looking  up  from  his  papers  as  he  arranged  them  for 
the  night,  "  what  is  in  the  wind  besides  fog?" 

"Mr.  Drood,"  said  Bazzard. 

"  What  of  him  ?  " 

"  Has  called,"  said  Bazzard. 

"  You  might  have  shown  him  in." 

"  I  am  doing  it,"  said  Bazzard. 

The  visitor  came  in  accordingly. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Mr.  ( bewgious,  looking  round  his  pair  of 
office  candles.  "I  thought  you  had  called  and  merely  left 
your  name,  and  gone.  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Edwin  ?  Dear 
me,  you're  choking  !  " 

'•it's  this  fog,"  returned  Edwin,  ''and  it  makes  my  eyes 
smart  like  cayenne  pepper." 

"Is  it  really  so  bad  as  that?  Pray  undo  your  wrappers. 
It's  fortunate  I  have  so  good  a  fire  ;  but  Mr.  Bazzard  has  taken 
care  of  me." 

"No,  I  haven't,"  said  Mr.  Bazzard  at  the  door. 

"  Ah  !  Then  it  follows  that  I  must  have  taken  care  of  my- 
self without  observing  it,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "Pray  be 
seated  in  my  chair.  No.  I  beg  !  Coming  out  of  such  an  at- 
mosphere, in  my  chair." 


104  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  BROOD. 

Edwin  took  the  easy-chair  in  the  corner  ;  and  the  fog  he  had 
brought  in  with  him,  and  the  fog  he  took  off  with  his  great-coat 
and  neck-shawl,  was  speedily  licked  up  by  the  eager  fire. 
"I  look,"  said  Edwin,  smiling,  "as  if  I  had  come  to  stop." 
" — By  the  by,"  cried  Mr.  Grewgious,  "excuse  my  interrupt- 
ing you  ;  do  stop.  The  fog  may  clear  in  an  hour  or  two.  We 
can  have  dinner  in  from  just  across  Holborn.  You  had  better 
take  your  cayenne  pepper  here  than  outside  ;  pray  stop  and 
dine." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Edwin,  glancing  about  him,  as 
though  attracted  by  the  notion  of  a  new  and  relishing  sort  of 
gypsy-party. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious;  "you  are  very  kind  to 
join  issue  with  a  bachelor  in  chambers,  and  take  pot-luck. 
And  I'll  ask,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  dropping  his  voice,  and 
speaking  with  a  twinkling  eye,  as  if  inspired  with  a  bright 
thought, — "I'll  ask  Bazzard,  He  mightn't  like  it  else.  Baz- 
zard  ! " 

Bazzard  reappeared. 

"Dine  presently  with  Mr.  Drood  and  me." 
"If   I  am  ordered   to  dine,  of  course  1  will,  sir,"  was  the 
gloomy  answer. 

"Save  the  man!"  cried  Mr.  Grewgious.  "You're  not 
ordered  ;  ycu're  invited." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Bazzard;  "in  that  case  I  don't  care 
if  I  do." 

"That's  arranged.  And  perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind,"  said 
Mr.  Grewgious,  "  stepping  over  to  the  hotel  in  Eurnvial's,  and 
asking  them  to  send  in  materials  for  laying  the  cloth.  For 
dinner  we'll  have  a  tureen  of  the  hottest  and  strongest  soup 
available,  and  we'll  have  the  best  made-dish  that  can  be  recom- 
mended, and  we'll  have  a  joint  (such  as  a  haunch  of  mutton), 
and  we'll  have  a  goose,  or  a  turkey,  or  any  little  stuffed  thing 
of  that  sort  that  may  happen  to  be  in  the  bill  of  fare, — -in  short, 
we'll  have  whatever  there  is  on  hand." 

These  liberal  directions  Mr.  Grewgious  issued  with  his  usual 
air  of  reading  an  inventory,  or  repeating  a  lesson,  or  doing  any- 
thing else  by  rote.  Bazzard,  after  drawing  out  the  round  table, 
withdrew  to  execute  them. 

"  I  was  a  little  delicate,  you  see,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  in  a 
lower  tone,  after  his  clerk's  departure,  "about  employing  him 
in  the  foraging  or  commissariat  department.  Because  he 
mightn't  like  it." 

"  He  seems  to  have  his  own  way,  sir,"  remarked  Edwin. 


iPwrniiHgll 


A   PICTURE  AND  A   RING.  I05 

"His  own  way?"  returned  Mr.  Grewgious.  uO  dear,  no! 
Poor  fellow,  you  quite  mistake  him.  If  he  had  his  own  way, 
he  wouldn't  be  here." 

"  I  wonder  where  he  would  be  !  "  Edwin  thought.  But  he 
only  thought  it,  becaus,;  Mr.  Grewgious  came  and  stood  him- 
self with  his  back  to  the  other  corner  of  the  fire,  and  his 
shoulder-blades  against  the  chimney-piece,  and  collected  his 
skirts  for  easy  conversation. 

"  I  take  it,  without  having  the  gift  of  prophecy,  that  you  have 
done  me  the  favour  of  looking  in  to  mention  that  you  are  going 
down  yonder — where  I  can  tell  you,  you  are  expected — and  to 
offer  to  execute  any  little  commission  from  me  to  my  charming 
ward,  and  perhaps  to  sharpen  me  up  a  bit  in  any  proceedings  ? 
Eh,  Mr.  Edwin  ?  " 

"  I  called,  sir,  before  going  down,  as  an  act  of  attention." 

"  Of  attention  !  "  said  Mr.  Grewgious  ;  "  ah  !  of  course,  not 
of  impatience?  " 

"  Impatience,  sir  ?  " 

Mr.  Grewgious  had  meant  to  be  arch,  —  not  that  he  in  the  re- 
motest degree  expressed  that  meaning, — and  had  brought  him- 
self into  scarcely  supportable  proximity  with  the  fire,  as  if  to 
burn  the  fullest  effect  of  his  archness  into  himself,  as  other  sub- 
tle impressions  are  burnt  into  hard  metals.  But  his  archness 
suddenly  flying  before  the  composed  face  and  manner  of  his 
visitor,  and  only  the  fire  remaining,  he  started  and  rubbed  him- 
self. 

"I  have  lately  been  down  yonder,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  re- 
arranging his  skirts  ;  "and  that  was  what  I  referred  to  when  I 
said  1  could  tell  you  you  are  expected.'' 

"Indeed,  sir!  Yes,  I  knew  that  Pussy  was  looking  out  for 
me." 

"Do  you  keep  a  cat  down  there?"  asked  Mr.  Grewgious. 

Edwin  coloured  a  little  as  he  exclaimed,  "  I  call  Rosa  Pussy." 

"  O,  really,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  smoothing  down  his  head, 
"  that's  very  affable." 

Edwin  glanced  at  his  face,  uncertain  whether  or  no  he  seri- 
ously objected  to  the  appellation.  But  Edwin  might  as  well 
have  glanced  at  the  face  of  a  clock. 

"A  pet  name,  sir,"  he  explained  again. 

"  Umph,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  a  nod.  But  with  such 
an  extraordinay  compromise  between  an  unqualified  assent  and  a 
qualified  dissent  that  his  visitor  was  much  disconcerted. 

"Did  PRosa — "  Edwin  began,  by  way  of  recovering  himself. 

"  PRosa  ?  "  repeated  Mr.  Grewgious. 
5* 


106  THE    MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  I  was  going  to  say  Pussy,  and  changed  my  mind ; — did  she 
tell  you  anything  about  the  Landlesses?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "What  is  the  Landlesses?  An 
estate  ?     A  villa  ?     A  farm  ?  " 

"  A  brother  and  sister.  The  sister  is  at  the  Nuns'  House, 
and  has  become  a  great  friend  of  P — " 

"  P  Rosa's,"  Mr.  Grewgious  struck  in,  with  a  fixed  face. 

"She  is  a  strikingly  handsome  girl,  sir,  and  I  thought  she 
might  have  been  described  to  you,  or  presented  to  you,  per- 
haps"?" 

"  Neither,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.      "  But  here  is  Bazzard." 

Bazzard  returned,  accompanied  by  two  waiters, — an  immov- 
able waiter  and  a  flying  waiter  ;  and  the  three  brought  in  with 
them  as  much  fog  as  gave  a  new  roar  to  the  fire.  The  flying 
waiter,  who  had  brought  everything  on  his  shoulders,  laid  the 
cloth  with  amazing  rapidity  and  dexterity  ;  while  the  immova- 
ble waiter,  who  had  brought  nothing,  found  fault  with  him. 
The  flying  waiter  then  highly  polished  all  the  glasses  he  had 
brought,  and  the  immovable  waiter  looked  through  them.  The 
flying  waiter  then  flew  across  Holborn  for  the  soup  and  flew 
back  again,  and  then  took  another  flight  for  the  made-dish  and 
flew  back  again,  and  then  took  another  flight  for  the  joint  and 
poultry  and  flew  back  again,  and  between  whiles  took  supple- 
mentary flights  for  a  great  variety  of  articles  as  it  was  discov- 
ered from  time  to  time  that  the  immovable  waiter  had  forgotten 
them  all.  But  let  the  flying  waiter  cleave  the  air  as  he  might, 
he  was  always  reproached  on  his  return  by  the  immovable 
waiter  for  bringing  fog  with  him,  and  being  out  of  breath.  At 
the  conclusion  of  the  repast,  by  which  time  the  flying  waiter 
was  severely  blown,  the  immovable  waiter  gathered  up  the 
tablecloth  under  his  arm  with  a  grand  air,  and  having  sternly 
(not  to  say  with  indignation)  looked  on  at  the  flying  waiter 
while  he  set  clean  glasses  round,  directed  a  valedictory  glance 
towards  Mr.  Grewgious,  conveying,  "  Let  it  be  clearly  under- 
stood between  us  that  the  reward  is  mine,  and  that  Nil  is  the 
claim  of  this  slave,"  and  pushed  the  flying  waiter  before  him 
out  of  the  room. 

It  is  like  a  highly  finished  miniature  painting  representing 
My  Lords  of  the  Circumlocutional  Department,  Commander- 
ship-in-chief  of  any  sort,  Government.  It  was  quite  an  edify- 
ing little  picture  to  be  hung  on  the  line  in  the  National  Gallery. 

As  the  fog  had  been  the  proximate  cause  of  this  sumptuous 
repast,  so  the  fog  served  for  its  general  sauce.  To  hear  the 
out-door  clerks  sneezing,  wheezing,  and  beating  their  feet  on 


A    PICTURE   AND   A   RING. 


107 


the  gravel  was  a  zest  far  surpassing  Doctor  Kitchener's.  To 
bid,  with  a  shiver,  the  unfortunate  flying  waiter  shut  the  door 
before  he  had  opened  it,  was  a  condiment  of  a  profounder  fla- 
vour than  Harvey.  And  here  let  it  be  noticed  parenthetically 
that  the  leg  of  this  young  man  in  its  application  to  the  door 
evinced  the  finest  sense  of  touch  ;  always  preceding  himself 
and  tray  (with  something  of  an  angling  air  about  it)  by  some 
seconds,  and  always  lingering  after  he  and  the  tray  had  disap- 
peared, like  Macbeth's  leg  when  accompanying  him  off  the 
stage  with  reluctance  to  the  assassination  of  Duncan. 

The  host  had  gone  below  to  the  ceilar,  and  had  brought  up 
bottles  of  ruby,  straw-coloured,  and  golden  drinks,  which  had 
ripened  long  ago  in  lands  where  no  fogs  are,  and  had  since  lain 
slumbering  in  the  shade.  Sparkling  and  tingling  after  so  long 
a  nap,  they  pushed  at  their  corks  to  help  the  corkscrew  (like 
prisoners  helping  rioters  to  force  their  gates),  and  danced  out 
gayly.  If  P.  ].  T.  in  seventeen-forty-seven,  or  in  any  other 
year  of  his  period,  drank  such  wines,  then,  for  a  certainty,  P. 
J.  T.  was  Pretty  Jolly  Too. 

Externally,  Mr.  Grewgiotis  showed  no  signs  of  being  mel- 
lowed by  these  glowing  vintages.  Instead  of  his  drinking  them, 
they  might  have  been  poured  over  him  in  his  high-dried  snuff 
form,  and  run  to  waste,  for  any  lights  and  shades  they  caused 
to  flicker  over  his  face.  Neither  was  his  manner  influenced. 
But,  in  his  wooden  way,  he  had  observant  eyes  for  Edwin  ; 
and  when,  at  the  end  of  dinner,  he  motioned  Edwin  back  to 
his  own  easy-chair  in  the  fireside  corner,  and  Edwin  luxuriously 
sank  into  it  after  very  brief  remonstrance,  Mr.  Grewgiotis,  as 
he  turned  his  seat  round  towards  the  fire  too,  and  smoothed  his 
head  and  face,  might  have  been  seen  looking  at  his  visitor  be- 
tween his  smoothing  fingers. 

"  Bazzard  !  "  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  suddenly  turning  to  him. 

"  I  follow  you,  sir,"  returned  Bazzard,  who  had  done  his 
work  of  consuming  meat  and  drink,  in  a  workmanlike  manner, 
though  mostly  in  speechlessness. 

"  I  drink  to  you,  Bazzard  ;  Mr.  Edwin,  success  to  Mr. 
Bazzard!" 

"Success  to  Mr.  Bazzard!"  echoed  Edwin,  with  a  totally 
unfounded  appearance  of  enthusiasm,  and  with  the  unspoken 
addition,  "  YVhat  in,  I  wonder  !  " 

"And  May!"  pursued  Mr.  Grewgious, — "I  am  not  at  lib- 
erty to  be  definite — May  ! — my  conversational  powers  are  so 
very  limited  that  I  know  I  shall  not  come  well  out  of  this — 
May  ! — it  ought  to  be  put  imaginatively,  but  I  have  no  imagi- 


108  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

nation — May  ! — the  thorn  of  anxiety  is  as  nearly  the  mark  as  I 
am  likely  to  get—  May  it  come  out  at  last  !  " 

Mr.  Bazzard,  with  a  frowning  smile  at  the  fire,  put  a  hand 
into  his  tangled  locks,  as  if  the  thorn  of  anxiety  were  there; 
then  into  his  waistcoat,  as  if  it  were  there  ;  •  then  into  his 
pockets,  as  if  it  were  there.  In  all  these  movements  he  was 
closely  followed  by  the  eyes  of  Edwin,  as  if  that  young  gentle- 
man expected  to  see  the  thorn  in  action.  It  was  not  produced, 
however,  and  Mr.  Bazzard  merely  said,  "  I  follow  you,  sir,  and 
I  thank  you." 

"  I  am  going,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  jingling  his  glass  on  the 
table  with  one  hand  and  bending  aside  under  cover  of  the  other 
to  whisper  to  Edwin,  "  to  drink  to  my  ward.  But  I  put  Baz- 
zard first.     He  mightn't  like  it  else." 

This  was  said  with  a  mysterious  wink  ;  or  what  would  have 
been  a  wink  if,  in  Mr.  Grewgious's  hands,  it  could  have  been 
quick  enough.  So  Edwin  winked  responsively  without  the 
least  idea  what  he  meant  by  doing  so. 

"And  now,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "I  devote  a  bumper  to 
the  fair  and  fascinating  Miss  Rosa  !  " 

"  I  follow  you,  sir,"  said  Bazzard,  "  and  I  pledge  you  '  " 

"  And  so  do  I  !  "  said  Edwin. 

"Lord  bless  me  !"  cried  Mr.  Grewgious,  breaking  the  blank 
silence  which  of  course  ensued,  though  why  these  pauses  should 
come  upon  us  when  we  have  performed  any  small  social  rite 
not  directly  inducive  of  self-examination  or  mental  despond- 
ency who  can  tell  !  "  J  am  a  particularly  Angular  man,  and 
yet  I  fancy  (if  1  may  use  the  word,  not  having  a  morsel  of 
fancy)  that  I  could  draw  a  picture  of  a  true  lover's  state  of 
mind  to-night." 

"  Let  us  follow  you,  sir,"  said  Bazzard,  "  and  have  the  pic- 
ture." 

"  Mr.  Edwin  will  correct  it  where  it's  wrong,"  resumed  Mr. 
Grewgious,  "and  will  throw  in  a  few  touches  from  the  life.  1 
dare  say  it  is  wrong  in  many  particulars,  and  wants  many 
touches  from  the  life,  for  I  was  born  a  Chip,  and  have  neither 
soft  sympathies  nor  soft  experiences.  Well  !  I  hazard  the 
guess  that  the  true  lover's  mind  is  completely  permeated  by 
the  beloved  object  of  his  affections.  1  hazard  the  guess  that 
her  dear  name  is  precious  to  him,  cannot  be  heard  or  repeated 
without  emotion,  and  is  preseived  sacred.  If  he  has  any  dis- 
tinguishing appellation  of  fondness  for  her,  it  is  reserved  for 
her  and  is  not  for  common  ears.  A  name  that  it  would  be  a 
privilege  to  call  her  by,  being  alone  with  her  own  bright  self,  it 


A   PICTURE   AND   A   RING. 


IO9 


would  be  a  liberty,  a  coldness,  an  insensibility,  almost  a  breach 
of  good  faith,  to  flaunt  elsewhere." 

It  was  wonderful  to  see  Mr.  Grewgious  sitting  bolt  upright, 
with  his  hands  on  his  knees  continuously  chopping  this  dis- 
course out  of  himself,  much  as  a  charity-boy  with  a  very  good 
memory  might  get  his  catechism  said,  and  evincing  no  corre- 
spondent emotion  whatever,  unless  in  a  certain  occasional 
little  tingling  perceptible  at  the  end  of  his  nose. 

"My  picture,"  Mr.  Grewgious  proceeded,  "goes  on  to  repre- 
sent (under  correction  from  you,  Mr.  Edwin)  the  true  lover  as 
ever  impatient  to  be  in  the  presence  or  vicinity  of  the  beloved 
object  of  his  affections,  as  caring  very  little  for  his  ease  in  any 
other  society,  and  as  constantly  seeking  that.  If  I  was  to  say 
seeking  that  as  a  bird  seeks  its  nest,  I  should  make  an  ass  of 
myself,  because  that  would  trench  upon  what  I  understand  to 
be  poetry  ;  and  I  am  so  far  from  trenching  upon  poetry  at  any 
time,  that  I  never  to  my  knowledge  got  within  ten  thousand 
miles  of  it.  And  I  am  besides  totally  unacquainted  with  the 
habits  of  birds,  except  the  birds  of  Staple  Inn,  who  seek  their 
nests  on  ledges  and  in  gutter-pipes  and  chimney-pots,  not  con- 
structed for  them  by  the  beneficent  hand  of  Nature.  I  beg, 
therefore,  to  be  understood  as  foregoing  the  bird's-nest.  Pint 
my  picture  does  represent  the  true  lover  as  having  no  exist- 
ence separable  from  that  of  the  beloved  object  of  his  affections, 
and  as  living  at  once  a  doubled  life  and  a  halved  life.  And  if 
I  do  not  clearly  express  what  I  mean  by  that,  it  is  either  for 
the  reason  that  having  no  conversational  powers,  I  cannot  ex- 
press what  I  mean,  or  that  having  no  meaning,  I  do  not  mean 
what  I  fail  to  express.  Which,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  is  not 
the  case." 

Edwin  had  turned  red  and  turned  white  as  certain  points  of 
this  picture  came  into  the  light.  He  now  sat  looking  at  the  fire 
and  bit  his  lip. 

"The  speculations  of  an  Angular  man,"  resumed  Mr.  Grew- 
gious, still  sitting  and  speaking  exactly  as  before,  "are  proba- 
bly erroneous  on  so  globular  a  topic.  But  I  figure  to  myself 
(subject  as  before  to  Mr.  Edwin's  correction)  that  there  can  be 
no  coolness,  no  lassitude,  no  doubt,  no  indifference,  no  half- 
fire  and  half  smoke  state  of  mind  in  a  real  lover.  Pray  am  I 
at  all  near  the  mark  in  my  picture  ?  " 

As  abrupt  in  his  conclusion  as  in  his  commencement  and 
progress,  he  jerked  this  inquiry  at  Edwin,  and  stopped  when 
one  might  have  supposed  him  in  the  middle  of  his  oration. 


IIO  THE   MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  I  should  say.  sir,"  stammered  Edwin,  "  as  you  refer  the 
question  to  me — " 

"Yes."  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "I  refer  it  to  you  as  an  au- 
thority." 

"  I  should  say  then,  sir,"  Edwin  went  on,  embarrassed,  "  that 
the  picture  you  have  drawn  is  generally  correct  ;  but  I  submit 
that  perhaps  you  may  be  rather  hard  upon  the  unlucky  lover." 

"  Likely  so,"  assented  Mr.  Grewgious, — "likely  so.  I  am  a 
hard  man  in  the  grain." 

"  He  may  not  show,"  said  Edwin,  "all  he  feels  ;  or  he  may 
not — " 

There  he  stopped  so  long  to  find  the  rest  of  his  sentence 
that  Mr.  Grewgious  rendered  his  difficulty  a  thousand  times 
the  greater  by  unexpectedly  striking  in  with, 

"  No,  to  be  sure  ;  he  may  not  !  " 

After  that  they  all  sat  silent  ;  the  silence  of  Mr.  Bazzard  be- 
ing occasioned  by  slumber. 

"  His  responsibility  is  very  great  though,"  said  Mr.  Grevv- 
gious, at  length,  with  his  eyes  on  the  fire. 

Edwin  nodded  assent,  with  his  eyes  on  the  fire. 

"  And  let  him  be  sure  that  he  trifles  with  no  one,"  said  Mr. 
Grewgious  ;  "  neither  with  himself  nor  with  any  other." 

Edwin  bit  his  lip  again,  and  still  sat  looking  at  the  fire. 

"  He  must  not  make  a  plaything  of  a  treasure.  Woe  betide 
him  if  he  does  !  Let  him  take  that  well  to  heart,"  said  Mr. 
Grewgious. 

Though  he  said  these  thing  in  short  sentences,  much  as  the 
supposititious  charity-boy  just  now  referred  to  might  have  re- 
peated a  verse  or  two  from  the  Book  of  Proverbs,  there  was 
something  dreamy  (for  so  literal  a  man)  in  the  way  in  which  he 
now  shook  his  right  forefinger  at  the  live  coals  in  the  grate,  and 
again  fell  silent. 

But  not  for  long.  As  he  sat  upright  and  stiff  in  his  chair,  he 
suddenly  rapped  his  knees,  like  the  carved  image  of  some  queer 
Joss  or  other  coming  out  of  its  revery,  and  said,  "  We  must 
finish  this  bottle,  Mr.  Edwin.  Let  me  help  you.  I'll  help 
Bazzard.  too,  though  he  is  asleep.      He  mightn't  like  it  else." 

He  helped  them  both,  and  helped  himself,  and  drained  his 
glass,  and  stood  it  bottom  upward  on  the  table,  as  though  he 
had  just  caught  a  bluebottle  in  it. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Edwin,"  he  proceeded,  wiping  his  mouth 
and  hands  upon  his  handkerchief,  "  to  a  litde  piece  of  business. 
You  received  from  me,  the  other  day,  a  certified  copy  of  Miss 
Rosa's  father's  will.     You  knew  its  contents  before,  but  you  re- 


A   PICTURE  AND  A   RING.  IIT 

ceived  it  from  me  as  a  matter  of  business.  I  should  have  sent 
it  to  Mr.  Jasper,  but  for  Miss  Rosa  wishing  it  to  come  straight 
to  you,  in  preference.     You  received  it?" 

"  Quite  safely,  sir." 

"  You  should  have  acknowledged  its  receipt,"  said  Mr. 
Grewgious,  "  business  being  business  all  the  world  over.  How- 
ever, you  did  not." 

"  I  meant  to  have  acknowledged  it  when  I  first  came  in  this 
evening,  sir." 

"  Not  a  business-like  acknowledgment,"  returned  Mr.  Grew- 
gious;  "however,  let  that  pass.  Now,  in  that  document  you 
have  observed  a  few  words  of  kindly  allusion  to  its  being  left 
to  me  to  discharge  a  little  trust,  confided  to  me  in  conversa- 
tion, at  such  time  as  I  in  my  discretion  may  think  best." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Edwin,  it  came  into  my  mind  just  now,  when  I  was 
looking  at  the  fire,  that  I  could,  in  my  discretion,  acquit  myself 
of  that  trust  at  no  better  time  than  the  present.  Favour  me  with 
your  attention  half  a  minute." 

He  took  a  bunch  of  keys  from  his  pocket,  singled  out  by  the 
candledight  the  key  he  wanted,  and  then,  with  a  candle  in  his 
hand,  went  to  a  bureau  or  escritoire,  unlocked  it,  touched  the 
spring  of  a  little  secret  drawer,  and  took  from  it  an  ordinary 
ring-case  made  for  a  single  ring.  With  this  in  his  hand,  he  re- 
turned to  his  chair.  As  he  held  it  up  for  the  young  man  to  see, 
his  hand  trembled. 

"  Mr.  Edwin,  this  rose  of  diamonds  and  rubies,  delicately  set 
in  gold,  was  a  ring  belonging  to  Miss  Rosa's  mother.  It  was 
removed  from  her  dead  hand,  in  my  presence,  with  such  dis- 
tracted grief  as  I  hope  it  may  never  be  my  lot  fo  contemplate 
again.  Hard  man  as  I  am,  I  am  not  hard  enough  for  that. 
See  how  bright  these  stones  shine  !  "  opening  the  case.  "  And 
yet  the  eyes  that  were  so  much  brighter,  and  that  so  often 
looked  upon  them  with  a  light  and  a  proud  heart,  have  been 
ashes  among  ashes,  and  dust  among  dust,  some  years  !  If  I  had 
any  imagination  (which  it  is  needless  to  say  I  have  not),  I  might 
imagine  that  the  lasting  beauty  of  these  stones  was  almost 
cruel." 

He  closed  the  case  again  as  he  spoke. 

"This  ring  was  given  to  the  young  lady  who  was  drowned  so 
early  in  her  beautiful  and  happy  career,  by  her  husband,  when 
they  first  plighted  their  faith  to  one  another.  It  was  lie  who 
removed  it  from  her  unconscious  hand,  and  it  was  he  who, 
when  his  death  drew  very  near,  placed  it  in  mine.     The  trust 


H2  THE  MYSTERY  OE  EDWIN  DROOD. 

in  which  I  received  it  was,  that,  you  and  Miss  Rosa  growing  to 
manhood  and  womanhood,  and  your  betrothal  prospering  and 
coming  to  maturity,  I  should  give  it  to  you  to  place  upon  her 
linger. 

"  Failing  those  desired  results,  it  was  to  remain  in  my  posses- 
sion." 

Some  trouble  was  in  the  young  man's  face,  and  some  indeci- 
sion was  in  the  action  of  his  hand,  as  Mr.  Grewgious,  looking 
steadfastly  at  him,  gave  him  the  ring. 

"Your  placing  it  on  her  linger,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "will 
be  the  solemn  seal  upon  your  strict  fidelity  to  the  living  and  the 
dead.  You  are  going  to  her,  to  make  the  last  irrevocable  prep- 
arations for  your  marriage.     Take  it  with  you." 

The  young  man  took  the  little  case  and  placed  it  in  his 
breast. 

"  If  anything  should  be  amiss,  if  anything  should  be  even 
slightly  wrong  between  you,  if  you  should  have  any  secret  con- 
sciousness, that  you  are  committing  yourself  to  this  step  for  no 
higher  reason  than  because  you  have  long  been  accustomed  to 
look  forward  to  it,  then,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  I  charge  you 
;  once  more,  by  the  living  and  by  the  dead,  to  bring  that  ring 
back  to  me  !  " 

Here  Bazzard  awoke  himself  by  his  own  snoring  ;  and,  as  is 
usual  in  such  cases,  sat  apoplectically  staring  at  vacancy,  as  de- 
fying vacancy  to  accuse  him  of  having  been  asleep. 

"  Bazzard  !  "   said  Mr.  Grewgious,  harder  than  ever. 

"  I  follow  you,  sir,"  said  Bazzard,  "  and  I  have  been  follow- 
ing you." 

"  In  discharge  of  a  trust,  I  have  handed  Mr.  Edwin  Drood  a 
ring  of  diamonds  and  rubies.     You  see  ?  " 

Edwin  reproduced  the  little  case,  and  opened  it ;  and  Baz- 
zard looked  into  it. 

"  I  follow  you  both,  sir,"  returned  Bazzard,  "  and  I  witness 
the  transaction." 

Evidently  anxious  to  get  away  and  be  alone,  Edwin  Drood  now 
resumed  his  outer  clothing,  muttering  something  about  time  and 
appointments.  The  fog  was  reported  no  clearer  (by  the  Hying 
waiter,  who  alighted  from  a  speculative  flight  in  the  coffee  in- 
terest), but  he  went  out  into  it ;  and  Bazzard,  after  his  manner, 
''followed  "  him. 

Mr.  Grewgious,  left  alone,  walked  softly  and  slowly  to  and  fro 
for  an  hour  and  more.  He  was  restless  to-night,  and  seemed 
dispirited. 

"  I  hope  I  have  done  right,"  he  said.     "  The  appeal  to  him 


A   PICTURE  AND  A    RING. 


H3 


seemed  necessary.  It  was  hard  to  lose  the  ring,  and  yet  it 
must  have  gone  from  me  very  soon." 

He  closed  the  empty  little  drawer  with  a  sigh,  and  shut  and 
locked  the  escritoire,  and  came  back  to  the  solitary  fireside. 

'•  Her  ring,"  he  went  on.  "Will  it  come  back  to  me?  My 
mind  hangs  about  her  ring  very  uneasily  to-night.  But  that  is 
explainable.  I  have  had  it  so  long,  and  I  have  prized  it  so 
much  !     I  wonder — " 

He  was  in  a  wondering  mood  as  well  as  a  restless  ;  for, 
though  he  checked  himself  at  that  point  and  took  another  walk, 
he  resumed  his  wondering  when  he  sat  down  again. 

"  I  wonder  (for  the  ten  thousandth  time,  and  what  a  weak 
fool  I,  for  what  can  it  signify  now  !)  whether  he  confided  the 
charge  of  their  orphan  child  to  me  because  he  knew —  Good 
God,  how  like  her  mother  she  has  become  ! 

"  I  wonder  whether  he  ever  so  much  as  suspected  that  some 
one  doted  on  her  at  a  hopeless,  speechless  distance  when  he 
struck  in  and  won  her  !  1  wonder  whether  it  ever  crept  into 
his  mind  who  that  unfortunate  some  one  was  ! 

"  J  wonder  whether  I  shall  sleep  to-night !  At  all  events,  I 
.will  shut  out  the  world  with  the  bedclothes  and  try." 

Mr.  Grewgious  crossed  the  staircase  to  his  raw  and  foggy 
I  bedroom,  and  was  soon  ready  for  bed.  Dimly  catching  sight 
of  his  face  in  the  misty  looking-glass,  he  held  his  candle  to  it  for 
a  moment. 

"A  likely  some  one,  you,  to  come  into  anybody's  thoughts  in 
such  an  aspect !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  There,  there  !  there!  Get 
to  bed,  poor  man,  and  cease  to  jabber  !  " 

With  that  he  extinguished  his  light,  pulled  up  the  bed- 
clothes around  him,  and  with  another  sigh  shut  out  the  world. 
And  yet  there  are  such  unexplored  romantic  nooks  in  the  un- 
likeliest  men,  that  even  old  tinderous  and  touch  woody  P.  J.  T. 
Possibly  Jabbered  Thus,  at  some  odd  times,  in  or  about  seven- 
teen-forty-seven. 


114  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

CHAPTER    XII. 

A  Night  with  Ditrdles. 

HHEN  Mr.  Sapsea  has  nothing  better  to  do  towards 
evening,  and  finds  the  contemplation  of  his  own  pro- 
fundity becoming  a  little  monotonous  in  spite  of  the 
vastness  of  the  subject,  he  often  takes  an  airing  in  the 
Cathedral  Close  and  thereabout.  He  likes  to  pass  the  church- 
yard with  a  swelling  air  of  proprietorship,  and  to  encourage  in  his 
breast  a  sort  of  benignant-landlord  feeling  in  that  he  has  been 
bountiful  towards  that  meritorious  tenant,  Mrs.  Sapsea,  and  has 
publicly  given  her  a  prize.  He  likes  to  see  a  stray  face  or  two 
looking  in  through  the  railings  and  perhaps  reading  his  inscrip- 
tion. Should  he  meet  a  stranger  coming  from  the  churchyard 
with  a  quick  step,  he  is  morally  convinced  that  the  stranger  is 
"with  a  blush  retiring,"  as  monumentally  directed. 

Mr.  Sapsea's  importance  has  received  enhancement,  for  he 
has  become  Mayor  of  Cloisterham.  Without  mayors  and  many 
of  them,  it  cannot  be  disputed  that  the  whole  framework  of  so 
ciety — Mr.  Sapsea  is  confident  that  he  invented  that  forcible 
figure — would  fall  to  pieces.  Mayors  have  been  knighted  for 
"going  up"  with  addresses:  explosive  machines  intrepidly  dis- 
charging shot  and  shell  into  the  English  Grammar.  Mr.  Sapsea 
may  "go  up"  with  an  address.  Rise,  Sir  Thomas  Sapsea! 
Of  such  is  the  salt  of  the  earth. 

Mr.  Sapsea  has  improved  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Jasper 
since  their  first  meeting  to  partake  of  port,  epitaph,  backgam- 
mon, beef,  and  salad.  Mr.  Sapsea  has  been  received  at  the 
Gate  House  with  kindred  hospitality  ;  and  on  that  occasion 
Mr.  Jasper  seated  himself  at  the  piano,  and  sang  to  him,  tick- 
ling his  ears, — figuratively,  long  enough  to  present  a  considera- 
ble area  for  tickling.  What  Mr.  Sapsea  likes  in  that  young 
man,  is,  that  he  is  always  ready  to  profit  by  the  wisdom  of  Ins 
elders,  and  that  he  is  sound,  sir,  at  the  core.  In  proof  of  which 
he  sang  to  Mr.  Sapsea  that  evening  no  kickshaw  ditties,  favour 
ites  with  national  enemies,  but  gave  him  the  genuine  George 
the  Third  home-brewed,  exhorting  him  (as  "  my  brave  boys') 
to  reduce  to  a  smashed  condition  all  other  islands  but  this  island, 
and  all  continents,  peninsulas,  isthmuses,  promontories,  and 
other  geogiaphical  forms  of  land  soever,  besides  sweeping  the 
seas  in  all   directions.     In  short,  he   rendered   it   pretty  clear 


ANIGHT   WITH  DURDLES.  U5 

that  Providence  made  a  distinct  mistake  in  originating  so  small 
a  nation  of  hearts  of  oak,  and  so  many  other  verminous  peoples. 

Mr.  Sapsea,  walking  slowly  this  moist  evening  near  the 
churchyard  with  his  hands  behind  him  on  the  lookout  for  a 
blushing  and  retiring  stranger,  turns  a  corner  and  comes  instead 
into  the  goodly  presence  of  the  Dean  conversing  with  the  Ver- 
ger and  Mr.  jasper.  Mr.  Sapsea  makes  his  obeisance,  and  is 
instantly  stricken  far  more  ecclesiastical  than  any  Archbishop 
of  York  or  Canterbury. 

"You  are  evidently  going  to  write  a  book  about  us,  Mr.  Jas- 
per," quoth  the  Dean  ;  "  to  write  a  book  about  us.  Well  !  We 
are  very  ancient,  and  we  ought  to  make  a  good  book.  We  are 
not  so  richly  endowed  in  possessions  as  in  age  ;  but  perhaps  you 
will  put  that  in  your  book,  among  other  things,  and  call  atten- 
tion to  our'  wrongs." 

Mr.  Tope,  as  in  duty  bound,  is  greatly  entertained  by  this. 

"  I  really  have  no  intention  at  all,  sir,"  replies  Jasper,  "  of 
turning  author  or  archaeologist.  It  is  but  a  whim  of  mine.  And 
even  for  my  whim,  Mr.  Sapsea  here  is  more  accountable  than 
I  am." 

"  How  so,  Mr.  Mayor?"  says  the  Dean,  with  a  nod  of  good- 
natured  recognition  of  his  Fetch.   "  How  is  that,  Mr.  Mayor  ?" 

"  I  am  not  aware,"  Mr.  Sapsea  remarks,  looking  about  him 
for  information,  "  to  what  the  Very  Reverend  the  Dean  does  me 
the  honour  of  referring."  And  then  falls  to  studying  his  origi- 
nal in  minute  points  of  detail. 

"  Durdles,"  Mr.  Tope  hints. 

"  Ay  !"  the  Dean  echoes  ;  "  Durdles,  Durdles  !  " 

"The  truth  is,  sir,"  explains  Jasper,  "  that  my  curiosity  in  the 
man  was  first  really  stimulated  by  Mr.  Sapsea.  Mr.  Sapsea's 
knowledge  of  mankind,  and  power  of  drawing  out  whatever  is 
recluse  or  odd  around  him,  first  led  to  my  bestowing  a  second 
thought  upon  the  man  :  though  of  course  I  had  met  him  con- 
stantly about.  You  would  not  be  surprised  by  this,  Mr.  Dean, 
if  you  had  seen  Mr.  Sapsea  deal  with  him  in  his  own  parlour,  as 
1  did." 

"Oil  !"  cries  Sapsea,  picking  up  the  ball  thrown  to  him  with 
ineffable  complacency  and  pomposity;  "yes,  yes.  The  Very 
Reverend  the  Dean  refers  to  that  ?  Yes.  I  happened  to  bring 
Durdles  and  Mr.  Jasper  together.  I  regard  Durdles  as  a  Char- 
acter." 

"A  character,  Mr.  Sapsea,  that  with  a  few  skilful  touchesyou 
turn  inside  out,"  says  Jasper. 

"  Nay,    not  quite  that,"  returns  the    lumbering   auctioneer. 


H6  THE  MYSTERY  OF  ED  WIN  DROOD. 

"I  may  have  a  little  influence  over  him,  perhaps  ;  and  a  little 
insight  into  his  character,  perhaps.  The  Very  Reverend  the 
Dean  will  please  to  bear  in  mind  that  I  have  seen  the  world." 
Here  Mr.  Sapsea  gets  a  little  behind  the  Dean,  to  inspect  his 
coat-buttons. 

'•  Well  ! "  says  the  Dean,  looking  about  him  to  see  what  has 
become  of  his  copyist  :  "  1  hope,  Mr.  Mayor,  you  will  use  your 
study  and  knowledge  of  Durdles  to  the  good  purpose  of  exhort- 
ing him  not  to  break  our  worthy  and  respected  Choir-Master's 
neck  ;  we  cannot  afford  it ;  his  head  and  voice  are  much  too  valua- 
ble to  us." 

Mr.  Tope  is  again  highly  entertained,  and,  having  fallen  into 
respectful  convulsions  of  laughter,  subsides  into  a  deferential 
murmur,  importing  that  surely  any  gentleman  would  deem  it  a 
pleasure  and  an  honour  to  have  his  neck  broken,  in  return  for 
such  a  compliment  from  such  a  source. 

"  I  will  take  it  upon  myself,  sir,"  observes  Sapsea,  loftily, 
"  to  answer  for  Mr.  Jasper's  neck.  I  will  tell  Durdles  to  be 
careful  of  it.  He  will  mind  what  I  say.  How  is  it  at  present 
endangered  ?  "  he  inquires,  looking  about  him  with  magnificent 
patronage. 

"  Only  by  my  making  a  moonlight  expedition  with  Durdles 
among  the  tombs,  vaults,  towers,  and  ruins,"  returns  Jasper. 
"  You  remember  suggesting  when  you  brought  us  together,  that, 
as  a  lover  of  the  picturesque,  it  might  be  worth  my  while  ?  " 

Cl  J  remember !"  replies  the  auctioneer.  And  the  solemn 
idiot  really  believes  that  he  does  remember. 

"  Profiting  by  your  hint,"  pursues  Jasper,  '•  I  have  had  some 
day-rambles  with  the  extraordinary  old  fellow,  and  we  are  to 
make  ?  moonlight  hole-and-corner  exploration  to-night." 

"And  here  he  is,"  says  the  Dean. 

Durdles,  with  his  dinner-bundle  in  his  hand,  is  indeed  beheld 
slouching  towards  them.  Slouching  nearer,  and  perceiving  the 
Dean,  he  pulls  off  his  hat,  and  is  slouching  away  with  it  unde: 
his  arm,  when  Mr.  Sapsea  stops  him. 

"  Mind  you  take  care  of  my  friend,"  is  the  injunction  Mr.  Sap- 
sea lays  upon  him. 

"  What  friend  o'  yourn  is  dead  ?  "  asks  Durdles.  "  No  order? 
has  come  in  for  any  friend  o'  yourn." 

"  I  mean   my  live  friend,  there." 

"  Oh  !  Him  ?  "  says  Durdles.  "  He  can  take  care  of  himself, 
can  Mister   Jarsper." 

"  But  do  you  take  care  of  him  too,"  says  Sapsea. 


ANIGHT    WITH  DURDLES.  \\j 

Whom  Bundles  (there  being  command  in  his  tone)  surlily 
surveys  from  head  to  foot. 

"  With  submission  to  his  Reverence  the  Dean,  if  you  '11  mind 
what  e  mcerns  you,  Mr.  Sapsea,  Durdles  he  '11  mind  what  con- 
cerns him." 

"  You're  out  of  temper,"  says  Mr.  Sapsea,  winking  to  the  com- 
pany to  observe  how  smoothly  he  will  manage  him.  "  My 
frien  1  concerns  me,  and  Mr.  Jasper  is  ray  friend.  And  you  are 
my  friend." 

••  Don't  you  get  into  a  bad  habit  of  boasting,"  retorts  Durdles, 
with  a  grave  cautionary  nod.      "  It'll  grow  upon  you." 

"  You  are  out  of  temper,"  says  Sapsea  again,  reddening,  but 
again  winking  to  the  company, 

'•  1  own  to  it,"  returns  Durdles  ;  "  I  don't  like  liberties." 

Mr.  Sapsea  winks  a  third  wink  to  the  company,  as  who  should 
say,  "  I  think  you  will  agree  with  me  that  I  have  settled  his 
business,"  and  stalks  out  of  the  controversy. 

Durdles  then  gives  the  Dean  a  good  evening,  and  adding,  as 
he  puts  his  hat  on,  "  \Tou'll  find  me  at  home,  Mister  Jarsper,  as 
agreed,  when  you  want  me  ;  I'm  a  going  home  to  clean  myself," 
soon  slouches  out  of  sight.  This  going  home  to  clean  himself 
is  one  of  the  man's  incomprehensible  compromises  with  inexor- 
able facts  ;  he  and  his  hat,  and  his  boots,  and  his  clothes,  never 
showing  any  trace  of  cleaning,  but  being  uniformly  in  one  condi- 
tion of  dust  and  grit. 

The  lamplighter  now  dotting  the  quiet  Close  with  specks  of 
light, and  running  at  a  great  rate  up  and  down  his  little  ladder 
with  that  object, — his  little  ladder  under  the  sacred  shadow  of 
whose  inconvenience  generations  had  grown  up,  and  which  all 
Cloisterham  would  have  stood  aghast  at  the  idea  of  abolishing, 
— the  Dean  withdraws  to  his  dinner,  Mr.  Tope  to  his  tea,  and 
Mr.  Jasper  to  his  piano.  There,  with  no  light  but  that  of  the 
fire,  he  sits  chanting  choir-music  in  a  low  and  beautiful  voice 
for  two  or  three  hours  ;  in  short,  until  it  has  been  for  some  time 
dark,  and  the  moon  is  about  to  rise. 

Then  he  closes  his  piano  softly,  softly  changes  his  coat  for  a 
pea-jacket  with  a  goodly  wicker-cased  bottle  in  its  largest  pocket, 
and  putting  on  a  low-crowned,  flap-brimmed  hat,  goes  softly  out. 
Vv  'ny  does  he  move  so  softly  to-night?  No  outward  reason  is  ap- 
parent for  it.  Can  there  be  any  sympathetic  reason  crouching 
darkly  within  him  ? 

Repairing  to  Durdles's  unfinished  house,  or  hole  in  the  city 
wall,  and  seeing  a  light  within  it,  he  softly  picks  his  course 
among  the  gravestones,  monuments,  and  stony  lumber  of  the 


I  1 8  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

yard  already  touched  here  and  there,  sidewise  by  the  rising 
moon.  The  two  journeymen  have  left  their  two  great  saws 
sticking  in  their  blocks  of  stone  ;  and  two  skeleton  journeymen 
out  of  the  Dance  of  Death  might  be  grinning  in  the  shadow  of 
their  sheltering  sentry-boxes  about  to  slash  away  at  cutting  out 
the  gravestones  of  the  next  two  people  destined  to  die  in  Cloister- 
ham.  Likely  enough  the  two  think  little  of  that  now,  being 
alive,  and  perhaps  merry.  Curious  to  make  a  guess  at  the  two, 
— or  say  at  one  of  the  two ! 

"Ho!   Durdles!" 

The  light  moves,  and  he  appears  with  it  at  the  door.  He 
would  seem  to  have  been  "cleaning  himself"  with  the  aid  of  a 
bottle,  jug,  and  tumbler  ;  for  no  other  cleansing  instruments  are 
visible  in  the  bare  brick  room  with  rafters  overheard  and  no 
plastered  ceiling,  into  which  he  shows  his  visitor. 

"  Are  you  ready  ?  " 

"  I  am  ready,  Mister  Jarsper.  Let  the  old  uns  come  out  if 
they  dare  when  we  go  among  their  tombs.  My  spirits  is  ready 
for  'em." 

"Do  you  mean  animal  spirits,  or  ardent?" 

"  The  one's  the  t'other,"  answers  Durdles,  "  and  I  mean  'em 
both." 

He  takes  a  lantern  from  a  hook,  puts  a  match  or  two  in  his 
pocket  wherewith  to  light  it,  should  there  be  need,  and  they  go 
out  together,  dinner-bundle  and  all. 

Surely  an  unaccountable  sort  of  expedition  !  That  Durdles 
himself,  who  is  always  prowling  among  old  graves  and  ruins  and 
a  Ghoul, — that  he  should  be  stealing  forth  to  climb  and  dive  and 
wander  without  an  object,  is  nothing  extraordinary  ;  but  that 
the  Choir-Master  or  any  one  else  should  hold  it  worth  his  while 
to  be  with  him,  and  to  study  moonlight  effects  in  such  company, 
is  another  affair.  Surely  an  unaccountable  sort  of  expedition 
therefore  ! 

"'Ware  that  there  mound  by  the  yard-gate,  Mister  Jarsper." 

"  I  see  it.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Lime." 

Mr.  Jasper  stops,  and  waits  for  him  to  come  up,  for  he  lags 
behind.     "  What  you  call  quicklime?" 

"Ay!  "says  Durdles;  "quick  enough  to  eat  your  boots. 
With  a  little  handy  stirring,  quick  enough  to  eat  your  bones." 

They  go  on,  presently  passing  the  red  windows  of  the 
Travellers'  Twopenny  and  emerging  into  the  clear  moonlight  of 
the  Monks'  Vineyard.     This  crossed,  they  come  to  Minor  Can- 


A  NIGHT   WITH  DURDLES. 


119 


on  Corner,  of  which  the  greater  part  lies  in  shadow  until  the 
moon  shall  rise  higher  in  the  sky. 

The  sound  of  a  closing  house-door  strikes  their  ears,  and  two 
men  come  out.  These  are  Mr.  Crisparkle  arid  Neville.  Jas- 
per, with  a  strange  and  sudden  smile  upon  his  face,  lays  the 
palm  of  his  hand  upon  the  breast  of  Dm  dies,  stopping  him 
where  he  stands. 

At  that  end  of  Minor  Canon  Comer  the  shadow  is  profound 
in  the  existing  state  of  the  light  :  at  that  end,  too,  there  is  a 
piece  of  old  dwarf  wall,  breast  high,  the  only  remaining  boundary 
of  what  was  once  a  garden,  but  is  now  the  thoroughfare,  jas- 
per and  Durdles  would  have  turned  this  wall  in  another  instant, 
but,  stopping  so  short,  stand  behind  it. 

"Those  two  are  only  sauntering,"  Tasper  whispers;  "they 
will  go  out  into  the  moonlight  soon.  Let  us  keep  quiet  here, 
or  they  will  detain  us,  or  want  to  join  us,  or  what  not." 

Durdles  nods  assent,  and  falls  to  munching  some  fragments 
from  his  bundle.  Jasper  folds  his  arms  upon  the  top  of  the  wall, 
and,  with  his  chin  resting  on  them,  watches.  He  takes  no  note 
whatever  of  the  Minor  Canon,  but  watches  Neville,  as  though  his 
eye  were  at  the  tiiggerof  a  loaded  rifle  and  he  had  covered  him, 
and  were  going  to  fire.  A  sense  of  destructive  power,  is  so  ex- 
pressed in  his  face,  that  even  Hurdles  pauses  in  his  munching, 
and  looks  at  him,  with  an  unmunched  something  in  his  cheek. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Crisparkle  and  Neville  walk  to  and  fro,  quietly 
talking  together.  What  they  say  cannot  be  heard  consecutively, 
but  Mr.  Jasper  has  already  distinguished  his  own  name  more 
than  once. 

"  This  is  the  first  day  of  the  week,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  can  be 
distinctly  heard  to  observe  as  they  turn  back,  "  and  the  last  day 
d*¥-of  the  week  is  Christmas  Eve." 

"  You  may  be  certain  of  me,  sir." 

The  echoes  were  favourable  at  those  points,  but  as  the  two 
approach  the  sound  of  their  talking  becomes  confused  again. 
The  word  "confidence,"  shattered  by  the  echoes,  but  still  capa- 
ble of  being  pieced  together,  is  uttered  by  Mr.  Crisparkle.  As 
they  draw  still  nearer,  this  fragment  of  a  reply  is  heard  :  "  Not 
deserved  yet,  but  shall  be,  sir."  As  they  turn  away  again  Jasper 
again  hears  his  own  name  in  connection  with  the  words  from  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  "Remember  that  I  said  I  answered  for  you  con- 
fidently." Then  the  sound  of  their  talk  becomes  confused 
again  ;  they  halting  for  a  little  while,  and  some  earnest  . 
on  the  part  of  Neville  succeeding.  When  they  move  once  more, 
Mr.  Crisparkle  is  seen  to  look  up  at  the  sky,  and  to  point  before 


120  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

him.  They  then  slowly  disappear,  passing  out  into  the  moon- 
light at  the  opposite  end  of  the  Corner. 

li  is  not  until  they  are  gone  that  Mr.  Jasper  moves.  But 
then  he  turns  to  Durdles,  and  bursts  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  Hur- 
dles, who  still  has  that  suspended  something  in  his  cheek,  and 
who  sees  nothing  to  laugh  at,  staresat  him  until  Mr.  Jasper  lays 
his  face  down  on  his  arms  to  have  his  laugh  out.  Then  Durdles 
bolts  the  something,  as  if  desperately  resigning  himself  to  indi- 
ion. 

Among  those  secluded  nooks  there  is  very  little  stir  or  move- 
ment after  dark.  Tnere  is  little  enough  in  the  hightide  of  the 
day,  but  there  is  next  to  none  at  night.  Besides  that  the  cheer- 
fully frequented  High  Street  lies  nearly  parallel  to  the  spot  (the 
old  Cathedral  rising  between  the  two),  and  is  the  natural  chan- 
nel in  which  the  Cloisterham  traffic  flows,  a  certain  awful  hush 
pervades  the  ancient  pile,  the  cloisters,  and  the  churchyard, 
after  dark,  which  not  many  people  care  to  encounter.  Ask 
the  first  hundred  citizens  of  Coloisterham,  met  at  random  in  the 
streets  at  noon,  if  they  believed  in  Ghosts,  they  would  tell  you 
no  ;  but  put  them  to  choose  at  night  between  these  eyry  Pre- 
cincts and  the  thoroughfare  of  shops,  and  you  would  find  that 
ninety-nine  declared  for  the  longer  round  and  the  more  fre- 
quented way.  The  cause  of  this  is  not  to  be  found  in  any  local 
superstition  that  attaches  to  the  Precincts, — albeit  a  mysterious 
lady,  with  a  child  in  her  arms  and  a  rope  dangling  from  her  neck, 
has  been  seen  flitting  about  there  by  sundry  witnesses  as  in- 
tangible as  herself, — but  it  is  to  be  sought  in  the  innate  shrink- 
ing of  dust  with  the  breath  of  life  in  it  from  dust  out  of  which 
the  breath  of  life  has  passed ;  also,  in  the  widely  diffused,  and 
almost  as  widely  unacknowledged,  reflection  :  "  If  the  dead  do, 
undeF  any  circumstances,  become  visible  to  the  living,  these  are 
sue!)  likely  surroundings  for  the  purpose  that  I,  the  living,  will 
gel  out  of  them  as  soon  as  I  can." 

Hence,  when  Air.  Jasper  and  Durdles  pause  to  glance 
around  them,  before  descending  into  the  crypt  by  a  small  side 
door,  of  which  the  latter  has  a  key,  the  whole  expanse  of  moon- 
light in  their  view  is  utterly  deserted.  One  might  fancy  that  the 
tide  of  life  was  stemmed  by  Mr.  Jasper's  own  Gate  House. 
The  murmur  of  the  tide  is  heard  beyond  ;  but  no  wave  passes 
the  archway,  over  which  his  lamp  burns  red  behind  his  curtain, 
as  if  the  building  were  a  lighthouse. 

They  enter,  locking  themselves  in,  descend  the  rugged  steps, 
and  are  down  in  the  crypt.  The  lantern  is  not  wanted,  for  the 
moonlight  strikes  in  at  the  groined  windows,  bare  of  glass,  the 


A  NIGHT   WITH  DURDLES.  I2r 

broken  frames  for  which  cast  patterns  on  the  ground.  The 
heavy  pillars  which  support  the  roof  engender  masses  of  black 
shade,  but  between  them  there  are  lanes  of  light.  Up  and  down 
these  lanes  they  walk,  Durdles  discoursing  of  the  "old  uns  "  he 
yet  counts  on  disinterring,  and  slapping  a  wall,  in  which  he  con- 
siders "  a  whole  family  on  'em  "  to  be  stoned  and  earthed  up,  just 
as  if  he  were  a  familiar  friend  of  the  family.  The  taciturnity  of 
Durdles  is  for  the  time  overcome  by  Mr.  Jasper's  wicker  bottle, 
which  circulates  freely  ; — in  the  sense,  that  is  to  say,  that  its 
contents  enter  freely  into  Mr.  Durdles' s  circulation,  while  Mr. 
Jasper  only  rinses  his  mouth  once,  and  casts  forth  the  rinsing. 

They  are  to  ascend  the  great  Tower.  On  the  steps  by  which 
they  rise  to  the  Cathedral,  Durdles  pauses  for  a  new  store  of 
breath.  The  steps  are  very  dark,  but  out  of  the  darkness  they 
can  see  the  lanes  of  light  they  have  traversed.  Durdles  seats 
himself  upon  a  step.  Mr.  Jasper  seats  himself  upon  another. 
The  odour  from  the  wicker  bottle  (which  has  somehow  passed 
into  Durdles's  keeping)  soon  intimates  that  the  cork  has  been 
taken  out  :  but  this  is  not  ascertainable  through  the  sense  of 
sight,  since  neither  can  descry  the  other.  And  yet,  m  talking, 
they  turn  to  one  another,  as  though  their  faces  could  commune 
together. 

"  This  is  good  stuff,  Mr.  Jarsper  !  " 

"  It  is  very  good  stuff,  I  hope.      I  bought  it  on  purpose." 

"They  don't  show,  you  see,  the  old  uns  don't,  Mister 
Jarsper !  " 

"  It  would  be  a  more  confused  world  than  it  is,  if  they  could." 

'•  Well,  it  would  lead  towards  a  mixing  of  things,"  Durdles 
acquiesces  ;  pausing  on  the  remark,  as  if  the  idea  of  ghosts  had 
not  previously  presented  itself  to  him  in  a  merely  inconvenient 
light,  domestically,  or  chronologically.  "But  do  you  think 
there  may  be  Ghosts  of  other  things,  though  not  of  men  and 
women  ?  " 

"  What  things  ?  Flower-beds  and  watering-pots  ?  Horses 
and  harness  ?  " 

"No.     Sounds." 

"  What  sounds  ?  " 

"  Cries." 

"  What  cries  do  you  mean  ?     Chairs  to  mend  ?  " 

"  No.  I  mean  screeches.  Now,  I'll  tell  you,  Mister  Jarsper. 
Wait  a  bit  till  I  put  the  bottle  right."  Here  the  cork  is  evi- 
dently taken  out  again,  and  replaced  again.  "  There  !  Now 
it's  right  !  This  time  last  year,  only  a  few  days  later,  I  happened 
to  have  been  doing  what  was  correct  by  the  season,  in  the  way 
6 


122  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EBlVhV  DROOD. 

of  giving  it  the  welcome  it  had  a  right  to  expect,  when  them 
town-boys  set  on  nie  at  their  worst.  At  length  I  gave  'em  the 
slip  and  turned  in  here.  And  here  I  fell  asleep.  And  what 
woke  me?  The  ghost  of  a  cry.  The  ghost  of  one  terrific 
shriek,  winch  shriek  was  followed  by  the  ghost  of  the  howl  of  a 
dog,  a  long,  dismal,  vvoful  howl,  such  as  a  dog  gives  when  a 
person's  dead.      That  way  my  last  Christmas  Eve." 

'-'What  do  you  mean?"  is  the  very  abrupt,  and,  one  might 
say,  fierce  retort. 

"  I  mean  that  I  made  inquiries  everywhere  about,  and  that 
no  living  ears  but  mine  heard  either  that  cry  or  that  howl.  So 
I  say  they  was  both  ghosts;  though  why  they  came  to  me,  I've 
never  made  out." 

"  I  thought  you  were  another  kind  of  man,"  says  jasper,  scorn- 
fully. 

"  So  I  thought  myself,"  answers  Durdles,  with  his  usual  com- 
posure :   "  and  yet  I  was  picked  out  for  it." 

Jasper  had  risen  suddenly,  when  he  asked  him  what  he  meant, 
and  he  now  says,  "  Come,  we  shall  freeze  here  ;  lead  the 
way." 

Durdles  complies,  not  over  steadily  ;  opens  the  door  at  the 
top  of  the  steps  with  the  key  he  has  already  ;  and  so  emerges 
on  the  Cathedral  level,  in  a  passage  at  the  side  of  the  chancel. 
Here,  the  moonlight  is  so  very  bright  again  that  die  colours  of 
the  nearest  stained-glass  window  are  thrown  upon  their  faces  ; 
The  appearance  of  the  unconscious  Durdles.  holding  the  door 
open  for  his  companion  to  follow,  as  if  from  the  grave,  is  ghastly 
enough,  with  a  purple  band  across  his  face,  and  a  yellow  splash 
upon  his  brow  ;  but  he  bears  the  close  scrutiny  of  his  compan- 
ion in  an  insensible  way,  although  it  is  prolonged  while  the  lat- 
ter fumbles  among  his  pockets  for  a  key  confided  to  him  that 
will  open  an  iron  gate  so  to  enable  them  to  pass  to  the  stair- 
case of  the  great  tower. 

"That  and  the  bottle  are  enough  for  you  to  carry,"  he  says, 
giving  it  to  Durdles,  "hand  your  bundle  to  me;  I  am  younger 
and  longer-winded  than  you."  Durdles  hesitates  for  a  moment 
between  bundle  and  bottle  ;  but  gives  the  preference  to  die 
bottle  as  being  by  far  the  better  company,  and  consigns  the  dry 
weight  to  his  fellow  explorer. 

Then  they  go  up  the  winding  staircase  of  the  great  tower, 
toilsomely,  turning  and  turning,  and  lowering  their  heads  to 
avoid  the  stairs  above',  or  the  rough  stone  pivot  around  which 
they  twist.  Durdles  has  lighted  his  lantern,  by  drawing  from 
the  cold  hard  well  a  spark  of  that  mysterious  fire  which  lurks  in 


A  NIGHT   WITH  DURDLES. 


123 


everything,  and,  guided  by  this  speck,  they  clamber  up  among 
the  cobwebs  and  the  dust.  Their  way  lies  through  strange 
places.  Twice  or  thrice  they  emerge  into  level,  low-arched 
galleries,  whence  they  can  look  down  into  the  moonlit  nave  ; 
and  where  Durdles,  waving  his  lantern,  shows  the  dim  angels' 
heads  upon  the  corbels  of  the  roof,  seeming  to  watch  their 
progress.  Anon,  they  turn  into  narrower  and  steeper  stair- 
cases, and  the  night  air  begins  to  blow  upon  them,  and  the 
chirp  of  some  startled  jackdaw  or  frightened  rock  precedes  the 
heavy  beating  of  wings  in  a  confined  space,  and  the  beating 
down  of  dust  and  straws  upon  their  heads.  At  last,  leaving  their 
light  behind  a  stair, — for  it  blows  fresh  up  here, — they  look 
down  on  Cloisterham,  fair  to  see  in  the  moonlight  ;  its  ruined 
habitations  and  sanctuaries  of  the  dead,  at  the  tower's  base ; 
its  moss-softened,  red-tiled  roofs  and  red  brick  houses  of  the 
living,  clustered  beyond ;  its  river  winding  down  from  the  mist 
on  the  horizon,  as  though  that  were  its  source,  and  already 
heaving  with  a  restless  knowledge  of  its  approach  towards  the 
sea. 

Once  again,  an  unaccountable  expedition  this  !  Jasper  (al- 
ways moving  softly,  with  no  visible  reason)  contemplates  the 
scene,  and  especially  that  stillest  part  of  it  which  the  Cathedral 
overshadows.  But  he  contemplates  Durdles  quite  as  curiously, 
and  Durdles  is  by  times  conscious  of  his  watchful  eyes. 

Only  by  times,  because  Durdles  is  growing  drowsy.  As 
aeronauts  lighten  the  load  they  carry,  when  they  wish  to  rise, 
similarly  Durdles  had  lightened  the  wicker  bottle  in  coming  up. 
Snatches  of  sleep  surprise  him  on  his  legs,  and  stop  him  in  his 
talk.  A  mild  lit  of  calenture  seizes  him,  in  which  he  deems 
that  the  ground,  so  far  below,  is  on  a  level  with  the  tower,  and 
would  as  lief  walk  off  the  tower  into  the  air  as  not.  Such  is  his 
state  when  they  begin  to  come  down.  And  as  aeronauts  make 
themselves  heavier  when  they  wish  to  descend,  similarly  Dur- 
dles charges  himself  with  more  liquid  from  the  wicker  bottle, 
that  he  may  come  down  the  better. 

The  iron  gate  attained  and  locked, — but  not  before  Durdles 
has  tumbled  twice,  and  cut  an  eyebrow  open  once, — they  de- 
scend into  the  crypt  again,  with  the  intent  of  issuing  forth,  as 
they  entered.  But,  while  returning  among  those  lanes  of  light, 
Durdles  becomes  so  very  uncertain,  both  of  foot  and  speech, 
that  he  half  drops,  half  throws  himself  down,  by  one  of  the 
heavy  pillars,  scarcely  less  heavy  than  itself,  and  indistinctly 
appeals  to  his  companion  for  forty  winks  of  a  second  each. 

"If  you  will  have  it  so,  or  must  have  it  so,"  replies  Jasper, 


124  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  I'll  not  leave  you  here.  Take  them,  while  I  walk  to  and 
fro." 

Durdles  is  asleep  at  once  ;  and  in  his  sleep  he  dreams  a 
dream. 

It  is  not  much  of  a  dream,  considering  the  vast  extent  of  the 
domains  of  dreamland,  and  their  wonderful  productions  ;  it  is 
jiffy  remarkable  for  Being  unusually  restless,  and  unusually 
re. J.  He  dreams  of  lying  there,  asleep,  and  yet  counting  his 
companion's  footsteps  as  he  walks  to  and  fro.  He  dreams 
that  the  footsteps  die  away  into  distance  of  time  and  of  space, 
and  that  something  touches  him,  and  that  something  falls  from 
his  hand.  Then  something  clinks  and  gropes  about,  and  he 
dreams  that  he  is  alone  for  so  long  a  time,  that  the  lanes  of 
light  take  new  directions  as  the  moon  advances  in  her  course. 
From  succeeding  unconsciousness,  he  passes  into  a  dream  of 
slow  uneasiness  from  cold,  and  painfully  awakes  to  a  percep- 
tion of  the  lanes  of  light, — really  changed,  much  as  he  had 
dreamed, — and  Jasper  walking  among  them,  beating  his  hands 
and  feet. 

"  Holloa  !  "  Durdles  cries  out,  unmeaningly  alarmed. 

"  Awake  at  last  ?  "  says  Jasper,  coming  up  to  him.  "  Do 
you  know  that  your  forties  have  stretched  into  thousands  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  They  have  though." 

"What's  the  time  ?" 

"  Hark  !     The  bells  are  going  in  the  tower  1  " 

They  strike  four  quarters,  and  then  the  great  bell  strikes. 

"Two!"  cries  Durdles,  scrambling  up;  "Why  didn't  you 
try  and  wake  me,  Mister  Jarsper?  " 

"  I  did.  1  might  as  well  have  tried  to  wake  the  dead  : — 
your  own  family  of  dead,  up  in  the  corner  there." 

"  Did  you  touch  me  ?  " 

"Touch  you?     Yes.     Shook  you." 

As  Durdles  recalls  that  touching  something  in  his  dream,  he 
looks  down  on  the  pavement,  and  sees  the  key  of  the  crypt 
door  lying  close  to  where  he  himself  lay. 

"  1  dropped  you,  did  I  ?  "  he  says,  picking  it  up,  and  recalling 
that  part  of  his  dream.  As  he  gathers  himself  again  into  an 
upright  position,  or  into  a  position  as  nearly  upright  as  he  ever 
maintains,  he  is  again  conscious  of  being  watched  by  his  com- 
panion. 

"Well?"  says  Jasper;  smiling.  "Are  you  quite  ready? 
Pray  don't  hurry." 


A  NIGHT   WITH  BUNDLES. 


125 


"Let  me  get  my  bundle  right,  Mister  Jarsper,  and  I'm  with 
you." 

As  he  ties  it  afresh,  he  is  once  more  conscious  that  he  is  very 
narrowly  observed. 

"What  do  you  suspect  me  of,  Mister  Jarsper  ?"  he  asks,  with 
drunken  displeasure.  "Let  them  as  has  any  suspicions  of 
Durdles  name  'em.' 

"I've  no  suspicions  of  you,  my  good  Mr.  Durdles  ;  but  I 
have  suspicions  that  my  bottle  was  filled  with  something  si  ffer 
than  either  of  us  supposed.  And  I  also  have  suspicions,"  Jas- 
per adds,  raking  it  from  the  pavement  and  turning  it  bottom 
upward,  "that  it's  empty." 

Durdles  condescends  to  laugh  at  this.  Continuing  to  chuckle 
when  his  laugh  is  over,  as  though  remonstrant  with  himself 
on  his  drinking  powers,  he  rolls  to  the  door  and  unlocks  it. 
They  both  pass  out,  and  Durdles  relocks  it,  and  pockets  his 
key. 

"A  thousand  thanks  for  a  curious  and  interesting  night," 
says  Jasper,  giving  him  his  hand;  "you  can  make  your  own 
way  home  ?  " 

"I  should  think  so!"  answers  Durdles.  "  If  you  was  to 
offer  Durdles  the  affront  to  show  him  his  way  home,  he  wouldn't 
go  home. 

Durdles  wouldn't  go  home  till  morning, 
And  then  Durdles  wouldn't  go  home, 

Durdles  wouldn't."     This,  with  the  utmost  defiance. 

"  Good-night,  then." 

"  Good-night,  Mister  Jarsper."  ■ 

Each  is  turning  his  own  way,  when  a  sharp  whistle  rends  the 
silence,  and  the  jargon  is  yelped  out  : 

"  Widdy  widdy  wen  ! 
I — ket — ches — Im — out — ar — ter — ten. 
Widdy  widdy  wy  ! 

Then — E — don't — go — then — I — shy — 
Widdy  Widdy  Wake-cock  warning  ! ' ' 

Instantly  afterwards,  a  rapid  fire  of  stones  rattles  at  the  Cathe- 
dral wall,  and  the  hideous  small  boy  is  beheld  opposite,  danc- 
ing in  the  moonlight. 

"What !  Is  that  baby-devil  on  the  watch  !  "  cries  Jasper,  in 
a  fury,  so  quickly  roused,  and  so  violent,  than  he  seems  an 
older  devil  himself.  "  I  shall  shed  the  blood  of  that  Impish 
wretch  !  I  know  I  shall  do  it  !  "  Regardless  of  the  fire, 
though    it   hits  him    more  than    once,  he    rushes    at    Deputy, 


126  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

collars  him,  and  tries  to  bring  him  across.  But  Deputy  is  not 
to  be  so  easily  brought  across.  With  a  diabolical  insight  into 
the  strongest  part  of  his  position,  he  is  no  sooner  taken  by  the 
throat  than  he  curls  up  his  legs,  forces  his  assailant  to  hang  him, 
as  it  were,  and  gurgles  in  his  throat,  and  screws  his  body,  and 
twists,  as  already  undergoing  the  first  agonies  of  strangulation. 
There  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  drop  him.  He  instantly  gets 
himself  together,  back  over  to  Durdles,  and  cries  to  his  as- 
sailant, gnashing  the  great  gap  in  front  of  his  mouth  with  rage 
and  malice  : 

'•  I'll  blind  yer,  s'elp  me  !  I'll  stone  yer  eyes  out,  s'elp  me  ! 
If  1  don't  have  yer  eyesight,  bellows  me!"  at  the  same  time 
dodging  behind  Durdles,  and  snarling  at  Jasper,  now  from  this 
side  of  him,  and  now  from  that:  prepared,  if  pounced  upon,  to 
dart  away  in  all  manner  of  curvilinear  directions,  and,  if  run 
down  after  all,  to  grovel  in  the  dust,  and  cry,  "  Now,  hit  me 
when  I'm  down  !     Do  i'.  !" 

"  Don't  hurt  the  boy,  Mister  Jarsper,"  urges  Durdles,  shield- 
ing him.     ''Recollect  yourself." 

"  He  followed  us  tc-night,  when  we  first  came  !  " 
"  Yer  lie,  I  didn't  !"  replies  Deputy,  in  his  one  form  of  polite 
contradiction. 

"  He  has  been  prowling  near  us  ever  since  !  " 
"  Yer  lie,  I  haven't  !  "  returns  Deputy.      "  I'd  only  jist  come 
out  for  my  'elth  when  I  see  you  two  a  coming  out  of  the  Kin- 
freederel.     If 

I  -  ket — dies — Im — out — ar— ter — ten  " 

(with  the  usual  rhythm  and  dance,  though  dodging  behind  Dur- 
dles), it  ain't  my  fault,  is  it?" 

"  Take  him  home,  then,"  retorts  Jasper,  ferociously,  though 
with  a  strong  check  upon  himself,  "  and  let  my  eyes  be  rid  of  the 
sight  of  you  !" 

Deputy,  with  another  sharp  whistle,  at  once  expressing  his 
relief,  and  his  commencement  of  a  milder  stoning  of  Mr.  Dur- 
dles. begins  stoning  that  respectable  gentleman  home  as  if  he 
were  a  reluctant  ox.  Mr.  Jasper  goes  to  his  Gate  House, 
brooding.  And  thus,  as  everything  comes  to  an  end,  the  un- 
accountable expedition  comes  to  an  end — for  the  time. 


BOTH  AT  THEIR  BEST.  i2J 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

Both  at  their  Best. 

ppsrjISS  TWTNKETON'S  establishment  was  about  to  un- 
H^»wS  U\  dergo  a  serene  hush.  The  Christmas  recess  was  at 
il^f  ijl  hand.  What  had  once,  and  at  no  remote  period,  been 
called,  even  by  the  erudite  Miss  Twinkleton  herself, 
"the  half,"  but  what  was  now  called,  as  being  more  elegant, 
and  more  strictly  collegiate,  ';  the  term,"  would  expire  to-mor- 
row. A  noticeable  relaxation  of  discipline  had  for  some  few- 
days  pervaded  the  Nuns'  House.  Club  suppers  had  occurred 
in  the  bedrooms,  and  a  dressed  tongue  had  been  carved  with  a 
pair  of  scissors,  and  handed  round  with  the  curling-tongs. 
Portions  of  marmalade  had  likewise  been  distributed  on  a  ser- 
vice of  plates  constructed  of  curl-paper  ;  and  cowslip  wine  had 
been  quaffed  from  the  small  squat  measuring  glass  in  which 
little  Rickitts  (a  junior  of  weakly  constitution)  took  her  steel 
drops  daily.  The  housemaids  had  been  bribed  with  various 
fragments  of  riband,  and  sundry  pairs  of  shoes,  more  or  less 
down  at  heel,  to  make  no  mention  of  crumbs  in  the  beds  ;  the 
1  costumes  had  been  worn. on  these  festive  occasions;  and 
the  i\:i  ing  Miss  Ferdinand  had  even  surprised  the  company  with 
a  sprightly  solo  on  the  comb-and-curl  paper,  until  suffocated  in 
her  own  pillow  by  two  flowing  haired  executioners. 

Nor  were  these  the  only  tokens  of  dispersal.  Poxes  ap- 
pealed in  the  bedrooms  (where  they  were  capital  at  other 
times),  and  a  surprising  amount  of  packing  took  place,  out  of 
all  proportion  to  the  amount  packed.  Largess,  in  the  form  of 
odds  and  ends  of  cold  cream  and  pomatum,  and  also  of  hair- 
pins, was  freely  distributed  among  the  attendants.  On  charges 
of  inviolable  secrecy,  confidences  were  interchanged  respecting 
golden  yonthjifc^ England  expected  to  call  "at  home,''  on  the 
first  opportunity.  Miss  Giggles  (deficient  in  sentiment)  did  in- 
deed profess  that  she,  for  her  part,  acknowledged  such  homage 
by  making  faces  at  the  golden  youth  ;  but  this  young  lad)'  was 
outvoted  by  an  immense  majority. 

On  the  last  night  before  a  recess,  it  was  always  expressly 
made  a  point  of  honour  that  nobody  should  go  to  sleep,  and 
that  Ghosts  should  be  encouraged  by  all  possible  means.  This 
compact  invariably  broke  down,  and  all  the  young  ladies  went 
^o  sleep  very  soon,  and  got  up  very  early. 


I28  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

The  concluding  ceremony  came  off  at  twelve  o'clock  on  the 
day  of  departure;  when  Miss  Twinkleton,  supported  by  Mrs. 
Tishcr,  held  a  Drawing-Room  in  her  own  apartment  (the 
globes  already  covered  with  brown  holland),  where  glasses  of 
while  wine,  and  plates  of  cut  pound-cake  were  discovered  on 
the  table.  Miss  Twinkleton  then  said,  Ladies,  another  revolv- 
ing j  ear  had  brought  us  round  to  that  festive  period  at  which 
the  first  feelings  of  our  nature  bounded  in  our — Miss  Twinkle- 
ton was  annually  going  to  add  "bosoms,"  but  annually  stopped 
on  the  brink  of  that  expression,  and  substituted  "hearts." 
Hearts  ;  our  hearts.  Hem  !  Again  a  revolving  year,  ladies, 
had  brought  us  to  pause  in  our  studies, — let  us  hope  our  greatly 
advanced  studies, —  and,  like  the  mariner  in  his  bark,  the  war- 
rior in  his  tent,  the  captive  in  his  dungeon,  and  the  traveller  in 
his  various  conveyances,  we  yearned  for  home.  Did  we  say 
on  such  an  occasion,  in  the  opening  words  of  Mr.  Addison's 
impressive  tragedy, — 

"  The  dawn  is  overcast,  the  morning  lowers, 
And  heavily  in  clouds  brings  on  the  day, 
The  great,  Lh'  important  day — "  ? 

Not  so.  From  the  horizon  to  zenith  all  was  couleur  de  rose, 
for  all  was  redolent  of  our  relations  and  friends.  Might  we  find 
them  prospering  as  we  expected  ;  might  they  find  us  prospering 
as  they  expected  !  Ladies,  we  would  now,  with  our  love  to 
one  another,  wish  one  another  good-by,  and  happiness,  until 
we  meet  again.  And  when  the  time  should  come  for  our  re- 
sumption of  those  pursuits  which  (here  a  general  depression  set 
in  all  round),  pursuits  which,  pursuits  which  ; — then  let  us  ever 
remember  what  was  said  by  the  Spartan  General,  in  words  too 
trite  for  repetition,  at  the  battle  it  were  superfluous  to  specify. 

The  handmaidens  of  the  establishment,  in  their  best  caps, 
then  handed  the  trays,  and  the  young  ladies  sipped  and  crum- 
bled, and  the  bespoken  coaches  began  to  choke  the  street. 
Then,  leave-taking  was  not  long  about,  and  Miss  Twinkleton, 
in  saluting  each  young  lady's  cheek,  confided  to  her  an  exceed- 
ingly neat  letter,  addressed  to  her  next  friend  at  law,  "  with 
Miss  Twinkleton' s  best  compliments"  in  the  corner.  This 
missive  she  handed  with  an  air  as  if  it  had  not  the  least  con- 
nection with  the  bill,  but  were  something  in  the  nature  of  a 
delicate  and  joyful  surprise. 

So  many  times  had  Rosa  seen  such  dispersals,  and  so  very 
little  did  she  know  of  any  other  Home,  that  she  was  contented 
to  remain  where  she  was,  and  was  even  better  contented  than 


BOTH    AT    THEIR   BEST. 


129 


ever  before,  having  her  latest  friend  with  her.  And  yet  her 
latest  friendship  had  a  blank  place  in  it  of  which  she  could  not 
fail  to  be  sensible.  Helena  Landless,  having  been  a  party  to 
her  brother's  revelation  about  Rosa,  and  having  entered  into 
that  compact  of  silence  with  Mr.  Crisparkle,  shrank  from  any 
allusion  to  Edwin  Drood's  name.  Why  she  so  avoided  it  was 
mysterious  to  Rosa,  but  she  perfectly  perceived  the  fact.  But 
for  the  fact,  she  might  have  relieved  her  own  little  perplexed 
heart  of  some  of  its  doubts  and  hesitations,  by  taking  Helena 
into  her  confidence.  As  it  was,  she  had  no  such  vent  :  she 
could  only  ponder  on  her  own  difficulties,  and  wonder  more 
and  more  why  this  avoidance  of  Edwin's  name  should  last,  now 
that  she  knew — for  so  much  Helena  had  told  her — that  a  good 
understanding  was  to  be  re-established  between  the  two  young 
men  when  Edwin  came  down. 

It  would  have  made  a  pretty  picture,  so  many  pretty  girls 
kissing  Rosa  in  the  cold  porch  of  the  Nuns'  House  and  that 
sunny  little  creature  peeping  out  of  it  (unconscious  of  sly  faces 
jcarved  on  spout  and  gable  peeping  at  her),  and  waving  fare- 
Jwells  to  the  departing  coaches,  as  if  she  represented  the  spirit 
of  rosy  youth  abiding  in  the  place  to  keep  it  bright  and  warm  in 
its  desertion.  The  hoarse  High  Street  became  musical  with 
the  cry,  in  various  silvery  voices,  "Good  by,  Rosebud,  Dar- 
ling !  "  and  the  effigy  of  Mr.  Sapsea's  father  over  the  opposite 
doorway  seemed  to  say  to  mankind,  "  Gentlemen,  favour  me 
with  your  attention  to  this  charming  little  last  lot  left  behind, 
and  bid  with  a  spirit  worthy  of  the  occasion  ! "  Then  the  staid 
street,  so  unwontedly  sparkling,  youthful,  and  fresh  for  a  few 
rippling  moments,  ran  dry,  and  Cloisterham  was  itself  again. 

, If  Rosebud  in  her  power  now  awaited  Edwin's  Drood's  com- 
ing with  an  uneasy  heart,  Edwin  for  his  part  was  uneasy  too. 
With  far  less  force  of  purpose  in  his  composition  than  the 
childish  beauty,  crowned  by  acclamation  fairy  queen  of  Miss 
Twinkleton's  establishment,  he  had  a  conscience,  and  Mr. 
Grewgious  had  pricked  it.  That  gentleman's  steady  convictions 
of  what  was  right  and  what  was  wrong  in  such  a  case  as  his 
were  neither  to  be  frowned  aside  nor  laughed  aside.  They 
would  not  be  moved.  "But  for  the  dinner  in  Staple  Inn,  and 
but  for  the  ring  he  carried  in  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat,  he 
would  have  drifted  into  their  wedding-day  without  another 
pause  for  real  thought,  loosely  trusting  that  all  would  go  well, 
left  alone.  But  that  serious  putting  him  on  his  truth  to  the 
living  and  the  dead  had  brought  him  to  a  check.  He  must 
either  give  the  ring  to  Rosa,  or  he  must  take  it  back.  Once 
G* 


130 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DR00D. 


put  into  this  narrowed  way  of  action,  it  was  curious  that  he  be' 
gan  to  consider  Rosa's  claims  upon  him  more  unselfishly  than 
he  had  ever  considered  them  before,  and  began  to  be  less  sure 
of  himself  than  he  had  ever  been  in  all  his  easy-going  days. 

"  1  will  be  guided  by  what  she  says,  and  by  how  we  get  on," 
was  his  decision,  walking  from  the  Gate  House  to  the  Nuns' 
House.  "  Whatever  comes  of  it,  I  will  bear  his  words  in  mind, 
and  try  to  be  true  to  the  living  and  the  dead." 

Rosa  was  dressed  for  walking.  She  expected  him.  It  was 
<■  bright  frosty  day,  and  Miss  Twinldeton  had  already  graciously 
sanctioned  fresh  air.  Thus  they  got  out  together  before  it  be- 
came necessary  for  either  Miss  Twinldeton,  or  the  Deputy  High 
Priest,  Mrs.  Tisher,  to  lay  even  so  much  as  one  of  those  usual 
offerings  on  the  shrine  of  Propriety. 

"  My  dear  Eddy,"  said  Rosa,  when  they  had  turned  out  of 
the  High  Street,  and  had  got  among  the  quiet  walks  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  Cathedral  and  the  river,  "  I  want  to  say 
something  very  serious  to  you.  I  have  been  thinking  about  it 
for  a  long,  long  time." 

"  I  want  to  be  serious  with  you  too,  Rosa,  dear.  I  mean  to 
be  serious  and  earnest." 

"Thank  you,  Eddy.  And  you  will  not  think  me  unkind  be- 
cause I  begin,  will  yon  ?  You  will  not  think  I  speak  for  myself 
only  because  I  speak  first  ?  That  would  not  be  generous, 
would  it  ?     And  1  know  you  are  generous  !  " 

He  said,  "  I  hope  I  am  not  ungenerous  to  you,  Rosa."  He 
called  her  Pussy  no  more.     Never  again. 

"And  there  is  no  fear,"  pursued  Rosa,  "  of  our  quarrelling, 
is  there?  Because,  Eddy,"  clasping  her  hand  on  his  arm,  "we 
have  so  much  reason  to  be  very  lenient  to  each  other  !  " 

"  We  will  be,  Rosa." 

"That's  a  dear  good  boy!  Eddy,  let  us  be  courageous. 
Let  us  change  to  brother  and  sister  from  this  day  forth." 

"  Never  be  husband  and  wife?" 

"  Never  !  " 

Neither  spoke  again  for  a  little  while.  But  after  that  pause 
he  said,  with  some  effort, — 

"Of  course  I  knew  that  this  has  been  in  both  our  minds, 
Rosa,  and  of  course  I  am  in  honour  bound  to  confess  freely 
that  it  does  not  originate  with,  you." 

"No,  nor  with  you,  dear,"  she  returned,  with  pathetic  ear- 
nestness. "  It  has  sprung  up  between  us.  You  are  not  truly 
happy  in  our  engagement ;  1  am  not  truly  happy  in  it.  O,  I 
am  so  sorry,  so  sorry  ! "     And  there  she  broke  into  tears. 


BOTH   AT   THEIR  BEST. 


131 


"  I  am  deeply  sorry  too,  Rosa.     Deeply  sorry  for  you." 

"  And  I  for  you,  poor  boy  !      And  I  for  you  !  " 

This  pure  young  feeling,  this  gentle  and  forbearing  feeling  of 
each  towards  the  other,  brought  with  it  its  reward  in  a  softening 
light  that  seemed  to  shine  on  their  position.  The  relations  be- 
tween them  did  not  look  wilful,  or  capricious,  or  a  failure,  in 
such  a  light :  they  became  elevated  into  something  more  self- 
denying,  honourable,  affectionate,  and  true. 

"  \i  we  knew  yesterday,"  said  Rosa,  as  she  dried  her  eyes, 
"  and  we  did  know  yesterday,  and  on  many,  many  yesterdays, 
that  we  were  far  from  right  together  in  those  relations  which 
were  not  of  our  own  choosing,  what  better  could  we  do  to-day 
than  change  them  ?  It  is  natural  that  we  should  be  sorry,  and 
you  see  how  sorry  we  both  are ;  but  how  much  better  to  be 
sorry  now  than  then  !  " 

"  When,  Rosa  ?  " 

"When  it  would  be  too  late.  And  then  we  should  be  angry, 
besides." 

Another  silence  fell  upon  them. 

"And  you  know,"  said  Rosa,  innocently,  "you  couldn't  like 
me  then  ;  and  you  can  always  like  me  now,  for  I  shall  not  be  a 
drag  upon  you,  or  a  worry  to  you.  And  I  can  always  like  you 
now,  and  your  sister  will  not  tease  or  trifle  with  you.  1  often 
did  when  I  was  not  your  sister,  and  I  beg  your  pardon  for  it." 

'•  Don't  let  us  come  to  that,  Rosa  ;  or  I  shall  want  more 
pardoning  than  1  like  to  think  of." 

"  No,  indeed,  Eddy  ;  you  are  too  hard,  my  generous  boy, 
upon  yourself.  Let  us  sit  down,  brother,  on  these  ruins,  and 
let  me  tell  you  how  it  was  with  us.  I  think  I  know,  for  I  have 
considered  about  it  very  much  since  you  were  here  last  time. 
You  liked  me,  didn't  you  ?  You  thought  I  was  a  nice  little 
thing?" 

"  Everybody  thinks  that,  Rosa." 

"  Do  they  ?  "  She  knitted  her  brow  musingly  for  a  moment, 
and  then  Hashed  out  with  the  bright  little  induction  :  "  Well  ; 
but  say  they  do.  Surely  it  was  not  enough  that  you  should 
think  of  me  only  as  other  people  did  ;  now,  was  it  ?  " 

The  point  was  not  to  be  got  over.     It  was  not  enough. 

"And  that  is  just  what  I  mean  ;  that  is  just  how  it  was  with 
us,"  said  Rosa.  "  You  liked  me  very  well,  and  you  had  grown 
used  to  me,  and  had  grown  used  to  the  idea  of  our  being 
married.  You  accepted  the  situation  as  an  inevitable  kind  of 
thing,  didn't  you  ?  It  was  to  be,  you  thought,  and  why  discuss 
or  dispute  it." 


-j 32  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

-a^It  was  new  and  strange  to  him  to  have  himself  presented 
to  himself  so  clearly,  in  a  glass  of  her  holding  up.  He  had 
always  patronized  her,  in  his  superiority  to  her  share  of 
woman's  wit.  Was  that  but  another  instance  of  something 
radically  amiss  in  the  terms  on  which  they  had  been  gliding 
towards  a  life-lcng  bondage? 

"  All  this  that  I  say  of  you  is  true  of  me  as  well,  Eddy. 
Unless  it  was,  I  might  not  be  bold  enough  to  say  it.  Only,  the 
difference  between  us  was,  that  by  little  and  little  there  crept 
into  my  mind  a  habit  of  thinking  about  it,  instead  of  dismissing 
it.  My  life  is  not  so  busy  as  yours,  you  see,  and  1  have  not  so 
many  things  to  think  of.  So  I  thought  about  it  very  much,  and 
1  cried  about  it  very  much  too  (though  that  was  not  your  fault, 
poor  boy)  ;  when  all  at  once  my  guardian  came  down  to  pre- 
pare for  my  leaving  the  Nuns'  House.  I  tried  to  hint  to  him 
that  I  was  not  quite  settled  in  my  mind,  but  I  hesitated  and 
failed,  and  he  didn't  understand  me.  But  he  is  a  good,  good  man. 
And  he  put  before  me  so  kindly,  and  yet  so  strongly,  how 
seriously  we  ought  to  consider,  in  our  circumstances,  that  1  re- 
solved to  speak  to  you  the  next  moment  we  were  alone  and 
grave.  And  if  I  seemed  to  come  to  it  easily  just  now,  because 
I  came  to  it  all  at  once,  don't  think  it  was  so  really,  Eddy,  for 
O,  it  was  very,  very  hard,  and  O,  I  am  very,  very  sorry  !  " 

Her  full  heart  broke  into  tears  again.  He  put  his  arm  about 
her  waist,  and  they  walked  by  the  river-side  together. 

"Your  guardian  has  spoken  to  me  too,  Rosa  dear.  I  saw 
him  before  I  left  London."  His  right  hand  was  in  his  breast, 
seeking  the  ring  ;  but  he  checked  it  as  he  thought,  "  If  I  am  to 
take  it  back,  why  should  I  tell  her  of  it  ?" 

"And  that  made  you  more  serious  about  it,  didn't  it,  Eddy? 
And  if  I  had  not  spoken  to  you,  as  1  have,  you  would  have 
spoken  to  me?  I  hope  you  can  tell  me  so?  I  don't  like  it 
to  be  all  my  doing,  though  it  is  so  much  better  for  us." 

"  Yes,  I  should  have  spoken  ;  I  should  have  put  everything 
before  you  ;  I  came  intending  to  do  it.  But  I  never  could 
have  spoken  to  you  as  you  have  spoken   to  me,  Rosa." 

"  Don't  say  you  mean  so  coldly  or  unkindly,  Eddy,  please, 
if  you  can  help  it." 

"I  mean  so  sensibly  and  delicately,  so  wisely  and  affection- 
ately." 

"That's  my  dear  brother  !"  She  kissed  his  hand  in  a  little 
rapture.  "The  dear  girls  will  be  dreadfully  disappointed,"  add- 
ed Rosa,  laughing,  with  the  dew-drops  glistening  in  her  bright 
eyes.     "  They  have  looked  forward  to  it  so,  poor  pets  !  " 


BOTH  AT  THEIR  BEST.  I  33 

"  Ah  !  But  I  fear  it  will  be  a  worse  disappointment  to  Jack," 
said  Edwin  Drood,  with  a  start.      "  I  never  thought  of  jack  !  " 

Her  swift  and  intent  look  at  him  as  he  said  the  words  could  no 
more  be  recalled  than  a  Hash  of  lightning  can;  But  it  appeared 
as  though  she  would  have  instantly  recalled  it,  ifshe  could  ;  for 
she  looked  down,  confused,  and  breathed  quickly. 

"  You  don't  doubt  it's  being  a  blow  to  Jack,  Rosa?" 

She  merely  replied,  and  that  evasively  and  hurriedly,  Why 
should  she  ?  She  had  not  thought  about  it.  He  seemed,  to 
her,  to  have  so  little  to  do  with  it. 

"  My  dear  child  !  Can  you  suppose  that  any  one  so  wrapped 
up  in  another — Mrs.  Tope's  expression  :  not  mine— as  Jack  is 
in  me,  could  fail  to  be  struck  all  of  a  heap  by  such  a  sudden 
and  complete  change  in  my  life  ?  I  say  sudden,  because  it  will 
be  sudden  to  him,  you  know." 

She  nodded  twice  or  thrice,  and  her  lips  parted  as  if  she  would 
have  assented.  But  she  uttered  no  sound,  and  her  breathing 
was  no  slower. 

"  How  shall  I  tell,  Jack  ?  "  said  Edwin,  ruminating.  If  he  had 
been  less  occupied  with  the  thought,  he  must  have  seen  her 
singular  emotion.  "  I  never  thought  of  Jack.  It  must  be  bro- 
ken to  him,  before  the  town-crier  knows  it.  I  dine  with  the 
dear  fellow  to-morrow  and  next  day — Christmas  Eve  and  Christ- 
mas Day — but  it  would  never  do  to  spoil  his  feast  days.  He 
always  worries  about  me,  and  molley-coddles  in  the  merest 
trifles.  The  news  is  sure  to  overset  him.  How  on  earth  shall 
this  be  broken   to  Jack  ?  " 

"  He  must  be  told,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  Rosa. 

"  My  dear  Rosa  !  Who  ought  to  be  in  our  confidence,  if 
not  Jack  ?  " 

"  My  guardian  promised  to  come  down,  if  I  should  write  and 
ask  him.  I  am  going  to  do  so.  Would  you  like  to  leave  it  to 
him  ?  " 

"  A  bright  idea  !  "  cried  Edwin.  "  The  other  trustee.  Noth- 
ing more  natural.  He  comes  down,  he  goes  to  Jack,  he  relates 
what  we  have  agreed  upon,  and  he  states  our  case  better  than 
we  could.  He  has  already  spoken  feelingly  to  you,  he  has 
already  spoken  feelingly  to  me,  and  he'll  put  the  whole  thing 
feelingly  to  jack.  That's  it!  I  am  not  a  coward,  Rosa,  but  to 
tell  you  a  secret,  1  am  a  little  afraid  of  Jack." 

"  No,  no  !  You  are  not  afraid  of  him  ?"  cried  Rosa,  turning 
white  and  clasping  her  hands. 

"  Why,  Sister  Rosa,  Sister  Rosa,  what  do  you  see  from  the 
turret?"  said    Edwin,  rallying  her.     "  My  dear  girl !  " 


134  TIIE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

''You  frightened  inc." 

"  Most  unintentionally,  but  I  am  as  sorry  as  if  I  had  meant 
to  do  it.  Coukl  vou  possibly  suppose  for  a  moment,  from  any 
loose  way  of  speaking  of  mine,  that  I  was  literally  afraid  of  the 
clear 'fond  fellow  ?  What  1  mean  is,  that  he  is  subject  to  a  kind 
of  paroxysm,  or  tit — I  saw  him  in  it  once — and  I  don't  know  but 
that  so  great  a  surprise,  coming  upon  him  direct  from  me.  whom 
he  is  so  wrapped  up  in,  might  bring  it  on  perhaps.  Which — 
and  this  is  die  secret  I  was  going  to  tell  you — is  another  reason 
for  voiir  guardian's  making  the  communication.  He  is  so 
steady,  precise,  and  exact,  that  he  will  talk  Jack's  thoughts 
TTnto  shape  in  no  time  ;  whereas  with  me  Jack  is  always  impui- 
jsive  and  hurried,  and,  I  may  say,  almost  womanish."       -S 

Rosa  seemed  convinced.  Perhaps  from  her  own  very  differ- 
ent point  of  view  of  "  Jack,"  she  felt  comforted  and  protected 
by  the  interposition  of  Mr.  Grewgious  between  herselfand  him. 

And  now,  Edwin  Drood's  right  hand  closed  again  upon  the  ring 
in  its  little  case,  and  again  was  checked  by  the  consideration  : 
"It  is  certain,  now,  that  I  am  to  give  it  back  to  him,  then  why 
should  I  tell  her  of  it?"  That  pretty  sympathetic  nature  which 
could  be  so  sorry  for  him  in  the  blight  of  their  childish  hopes  of 
happiness  together,  and  could  so  quietly  find  itself  alone  in  a 
new  world  to  weave  fresh  wreaths  of  such  flowers  as  it  might 
prove  to  bear,  the  old  world's  flowers  being  withered,  would  be 
grieved  by  those  sorrowful  jewels  ;  and  to  what  purpose  ?  Why 
should  it  be  ?  They  were  but  a  sign  of  broken  joys  and  base- 
less projects  ;  i-n  their  very  beauty  they  were  (as  the  unlikeliest 
of  men  had  said)  almost  a  cruel  satire  on  the  loves,  hopes, 
plans,  of  humanity,  which  are  able  to  forecast  nothing,  and  are 
so  much  brittle  dust.  Let  them  be.  He  would  restore  them 
to  her  guardian  when  he  came  down  ;  he  in  his  turn  would 
restore  them  to  the  cabinet  from  which  he  had  unwillingly  taken 
them  ;  and  there,  like  old  letters  or  old  vows,  or  records  of 
old  aspirations  come  to  nothing,  they  would  be  disregarded, 
until,  being  valuable,  they  were  sold  into  circulation  again,  to 
repeat  their  former  round. 

Let  them  be.  Let  them  lie  unspoken  of,  in  his  breast. 
However  distinctly  or  indistinctly  he  entertained  these  thoughts, 
he  arrived  at  the  conclusion,  Let  them  be.  Among  the  mighty 
store  of  wonderful  chains  that  are  forever  forging,  day  and 
night,  in  the  vast  iron-works  of  time  and  circumstance,  there 
was  one  chain  forged  in  the  moment  o<~  that  small  conclusion, 
riveted  to  the  foundations  of  heaven  anu  earth,  and  gifted  with 
invincible  force  to  hold  and  drag. 


BOTH   AT   THEFR  BEST.  !35 

They  walked  on  by  the  river.  They  began  to  speak  of  their 
separate  plans.  He  would  quicken  his  departure  from  Eng- 
land, and  she  would  remain  where  she  was,  at  least  as  long  as 
Helena  remained.  The  poor  dear  girls  should  have  their  dis- 
appointment broken  to  them  gently,  and,  as  the  first  prelimi- 
nary, Miss  Twinkleton  should  be  confided  in  by  Rosa,  even  in 
advance  of  the  reappearance  of  Mr.  Grewgious.  It  should  be 
made  clear  in  all  quarters  that  she  and  Edwin  were  the  best  of 
friends.  There  had  never  been  so  serene  an  understanding 
between  them  since  they  were  first  affianced.  And  yet  there 
was  on-'  reservation  on  each  s:cle  :  on  hers,  that  she  intended 
through  her  guardian  to  withdraw  herself  immediately  from  the 
tuition  of  her  music-master;  on  his,  that  he  did  already  enter- 
tain some  wandering  speculations  whether  it  might  ever  come 
to  pass  that  he  would"  know  more  of  Miss  Landless. 

The  bright  frosty  day  declined  as  they  walked  and  spoke 
together.  The  sun  dipped  in  the  river  far  behind  them,  and  the 
old  city  lay  red  before  them,  as  their  walk  drew  to  a  close.  The 
moaning  water  cast  its  sea-weed  duskily  at  their  feet,  when  they 
turned  to  leave  its  margin  ;  and  the  rooks  hovered  about  them 
with  hoarse  cries,  darker  splashes  in  the  darkening  air. 

"  I  will  prepare  Jack  for  my  flitting  soon,"  said  Edwin,  in  a 
low  voice,  "and  I  will  but  see  your  guardian  when  he  comes, 
and  then  go  before  they  speak  together.  It  will  be  better  done 
without  my  being  by.      Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  We  know  we  have  done  right,  Rosa  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  We  know  we  are  better  so,  even  now  ?" 

"  And  shall  be  far,  far  better  so  by  and  by." 

Still,  there  was  that  lingering  tenderness  in  their  hearts 
towards  the  old  positions  they  were  relinquishing,  that  they 
prolonged  their  parting.  When  they  came  among  the  elm-trees 
by  the  Cathedral,  where  they  had  last  sat  together,  they  stopped, 
as  by  consent,  and  Rosa  raised  her  face  to  his,  as  she  had 
never  raised  it  in  the  old  days, — for  they  were  old  already. 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  !     Good  by  !  " 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  !     Good  by  !  " 

They  kissed  each  other,  fervently. 

"  Now,  please  take  me  home,  Eddy,  and  let  me  be  by  myself." 

"  Don't  look  round,  Rosa,"  he  cautioned  her,  as  he  drew 
her  arm  through  his,  and  led  her  away.  "Didn't  you  see 
jack  ?  " 

"  No  1     Where  ?  " 


136 


THE  MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


"  Under  the  trees.  He  saw  us,  as  we  took  leave  of  each 
other.  Poor  fellow  !  he  little  thinks  we  have  parted.  This 
will  be  a  blow  to  him,  1  am  much  afraid  !  " 

She  hurried  on,  without  resting,  and  hurried  on  until  they 
had  passed  under  the  Gate  House  into  the  street  ;  once  there, 
she  asked, 

"  Has  he  followed  us?  You  can  look  without  seeming  to. 
Is  he  behind  ?  " 

"No.  Yes!  he  is!  He  has  just  passed  out  under  the 
gateway.  The  dear  sympathetic  old  fellow  likes  to  keep  us  in 
sight.      I  am  afraid  he  will  be  bitterly  disappointed  !  " 

She  pulled  hurriedly  at  the  pendent  handle  of  the  hoarse  old 
bell,  and  the  gate  soon  opened.  Before  going  in,  she  gave 
him  one  last  wide  wondering  look,  as  if  she  would  have  asked 
him  with  imploring  emphasis,  "Oh!  don't  you  understand?" 
And  out  of  that  look  he  vanished  from  her  view. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 


When  shall  these   Three  meet  a  sain  ? 


fepsjlHRISTMAS  EVE  in  Cloisterham.  A  few  strange 
pH^SH  ^ices  in  tne  streets  ;  a  few  other  faces,  half  strange  and 
i&lii&y  na'f  ^miliar,  once  the  faces  of  Cloisterham  children, 
now  the  faces  of  men  and  women    who   come  back 


from  the  outer  world  at  long  intervals  to  find  the  city  won- 
derfully shrunken  in  sue,  as  if  it  had  not  washed  by  any 
means  well  in  the  mean  while.  To  these,  the  striking  of 
tie  Cathedral  clock,  and  the  cawing  of  the  rooks  from 
the  Cathedral  tower,  are  like  voices  of  their  nursery  time. 
To  such  as  these,  it  has  happened  in  their  dying  hours  afar  off, 
that  they  have  imagined  their  chamber  floor  to  be  strewn  with 
the  autumnal  leaves  fallen  from  the  elm-trees  in  the  Close  ;  so 
have  the  rustling  sounds  and  fresh  scents  of  their  earliest  im- 
pressions revived,  when  the  circle  of  their  lives  was  very  nearly 
traced,  and  the  beginning  and  the  end  were  drawing  close 
together. 

Seasonable  tokens  are  about.  Red  berries  shine  here  and 
there  in  the  lattices  of  Minor  Canon  Corner;  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Tope  are  daintily  sticking  sprigs  of  holly  into  the  carvings  and 
sconces  of  the  Cathedral  stalls,  as  if  they  were  sticking  them 


+.WHEN  SHALL    THESE    THREE   MEET  AGALN ?    137 

into  the  coat  button  holes  of  the  Dean  and  Chapter.  Lavish 
profusion  is  in  the  shops  ;  particularly  in  the  articles  of  cur- 
rants, raisins,  spices,  candied  peel,  and  moist  sugar.  An  un- 
usual air  of  gallantry  and  dissipation  is  abroad  ;  evinced  in  an 
immense  bunch  of  mistletoe  hanging  in  the  green-grocer's  shop 
doorway,  and  a  poor  little  Twelfth  Cake,  culminating  in  the 
figure  of  a  Harlequin, — such  a  very  poor  little  Twelfth  Cake, 
that  one  would  rather  call  it  a  Twenty-Fourth  Cake,  or  a 
Forty-Eighth  Cake, — to  be  raffled  for  at  the  pastry-cook's, 
terms  one  shilling  per  member.  Public  amusements  are  not 
wanting.  Tne  Wax-Work  which  made  so  deep  an  impression 
on  the  reflective  mind  of  the  Emperor  of  China  is  to  be  seen 
by  particular  desire  during  Christmas  Week  only,  on  the 
premises  of  the  bankrupt  livery-stable  keeper  up  the  lane  ; 
and  a  new  grand  comic  Christinas  pantomime  is  to  be  pro- 
duced at  the  Theatre  ;  the  latter  heralded  by  the  portrait  of 
Signor  Jacksonini  the  clown,  saying  "  How  do  you  do  to-mor- 
row," quite  as  large  as  life,  and  almost  as  miserably.  In  short, 
Cloisterham  is  up  and  doing  ;  though  from  this  description  the 
High  School  and  Miss  Twinkleton's  are  to  be  excluded.  From 
the  former  establishment  the  scholars  have  gone  home,  every 
one  of  them  in  love  with  one  of  Miss  Twinkleton's  young 
ladies  (who  knows  nothing  about  it) ;  and  only  the  hand- 
maidens flutter  occasionally  in  the  windows  of  the  latter.  It  is 
noticed,  by  the  by,  that  these  damsels  become,  within  the 
limits  of  decorum,  more  skittish  when  thus  intrusted  with  the 
concrete  representation  of  their  sex,  than  when  dividing  the 
representation  with  Miss  Twinkleton's  young  ladies. 

Three  are  to  meet  at  the  Gate  House  to-night.  How  does 
each  one  of  the  three  get  through  the  day  ? 

Neville  Landless,  though  absolved  from  his  books  for  the 
time  by  Mr.  Crisparkle, — whose  fresh  nature  is  by  no  means 
insensible  to  the  charms  of  a  holiday, — reads  and  writes  in  his 
quiet  room,  with  a  concentrated  air,  until  it  is  two  hours  past 
noon.  He  then  sets  himself  to  clearing  his  table,  to  arranging 
his  books,  and  to  tearing  up  and  burning  his  stray  papers.  He 
makes  a  clean  sweep  of  all  untidy  accumulations,  puts  all  his 
drawers  in  order,  and  leaves  no  note  or  scrap  of  paper  unde- 
stroyed,  save  such  memoranda  as  bear  directly  on  his  studies: 
This  done,  he  turns  to  his  wardrobe,  selects  a  few  articles  of 
ordinary  wear, — among  them,  change  of  stout  shoes  and  socks 
for  walking, — and  packs  these  in  a  knapsack.  This  knapsack 
is  new,  and  he  bought  it  in  the  High  Street  yesterday.     He 


138  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

also  purchased,  at  the  same  time  and  at  the  same  place,  a 
heavy  walking-stick:  strong  in  the  handle  for  the  grip  of  the 
hand,  and  iron-shod.  He  tries  this,  swing-;  it,  poises  it,  and 
lays  it  by,  with  the  knapsack,  on  a  window-seat.  By  this  time 
his  arrangements  are  complete. 

He  dresses  for  going  out,  and  is  in  the  act  cf  going — indeed 
has  left  his  room,  and  has  met  the  Minor  Canon  on  the  staircase. 
coming  out  of  his  bedroom  upon  the  same  story — when  he  turns 
back  again  for  his  walking-stick,  thinking  he  will  carry  it  now. 
Mr.  Cnsparkle,  who  has  paused  on  the  staircase,  sees  it  in  his 
hand  on  his  immediately  reappearing,  takes  it  from  him,  and 
asks  him  with  a  smile  how  he  chooses  a  stick. 

"Really  I  don't  know  that  I  understand  the  subject,"  he 
answers.      "  I  choose  it  for  its  weight." 

"  Much  too  heavy,  Neville  ;  much  too  heavy." 

"To  rest  upon  in  a  long  walk,  sir?" 

"  Rest  upon  ?"  repeats  Mr.  Cnsparkle,  throwing  himself  into 
pedestrian  form.  "  You  don't  rest  upon  it ;  you  merely  balance 
with  it." 

"I  shall  know  better,  with  practice,  sir.  I  have  not  lived 
in  a  walking  country,  you  know." 

"  True,"  says  Mr.  Crisparkle.  "  Get  into  a  little  training,  and 
we  will  have  a.  t'jw  score  miles  together.  1  should  leave  you 
nowhere  now.      Do  you  come  back  before  dinner?" 

"  I  think  not,  as  we  dine  early." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  gives  him  a  bright  nod  and  a  cheerful  good 
by,  expressing  (not  without  intention)  absolute  confidence  and 
ease. 

Neville  repairs  to  the  Nuns'  House,  and  requests  that  Miss 
Landless  maybe  informed  that  her  brother  is  there,  by  appoint- 
ment. He  waits  at  the  gate,  not  even  crossing  the  threshold  ; 
for  he  is  on  his  parole  not  to  put  himself  in  Rosa's  way. 

His  sister  is  at  least  as  mindful  of  the  obligation  they  have 
taken  on  themselves,  as  lie  can  be,  and  loses  not  a  moment  in 
joining  him.  They  meet  affectionately,  avoid  lingering  there. 
and  walk  towards  the  upper  inland  country. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  tread  upon  forbidden  ground,  Helena," 
says  Neville,  when  they  have  walked  some  distance  and  are 
turning  ;  "you  will  understand  in  another  moment  that  I  con- 
not  help  referring  to — what  shall  I  say — my  infatuation." 

"  Had  you  better  not  avoid  it,  Neville  ?  You  know  that  I 
can  hear  nothing." 

"  You  can  hear,  my  dear,  what  Mr.  Crisparkle  has  heard,  and 
heard  with  approval." 


WHEN  SHALL    THESE    THREE   MEET  AGAIN 7    139 

"Yes,  I  can  hear  so  much." 

"  Well,  it  is  this.  I  am  not  only  unsettled  and  unhappy  my- 
self, but  I  ain  conscious  of  unsettling  and  interfering  with  other 
people.  Mow  do  I  know  that,  but  for  my  unfortunate  presence, 
you,  and — and — the  rest  of  that  former  party,  our  engaging 
guardian  excepted,  might  be  dining  cheefully  in  Minor  Canon 
Corner  to  morrow  ?  Indeed  it  probably  would  be  so.  I  can 
see  too  well  that  I  am  not  high  in  the  old  lady's  opinion,  and  it  is 
easy  to  understand  what  an  irksome  clog  I  must  be  upon  the 
hospitalities  of  her  orderly  house, — especially  at  this  time  of 
year, — when  I  must  be  kept  asunder  from  this  person,  and 
there  is  such  a  reason  for  my  not  being  brought  into  contact 
with  that  person,  and  an  unfavourable  reputation  has  preceded 
me  with  such  another  person,  and  so  on.  I  have  put  this  very 
gently  to  Mr.  Crisparkle,  for  you  know  his  self-denying. ways ; 
but  still  I  have  put  it.  What  I  have  laid  much  greater  stress 
upon  at  the  same  time,  is,  that  I  am  engaged  in  a  miserable 
struggle  with  myself,  and  that  a  little  change  and  absence  may 
enable  me  to  come  through  it  the  better.  So,  the  weather  being 
bright  and  hard,  I  am  going  on  a  walking  expedition,  and  in- 
tend taking  myself  out  of  everybody's  way  (my  own  included,  I 
hope)  to-morrow  morning." 

"When  to  come  back  ?" 

"  In  a  fortnight." 

"And  going  quite  alone?  " 

''I  am  much  better  without  company,  even  if  there  were  any 
one  but  you  to  bear  me  company,  my  dear  Helena." 

"  Mr.  Crisparkle  entirely  agrees,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Entirely.  I  am  not  sure  but  that  at  first  he  was  inclined 
to  think  it  rather  a  moody  scheme,  and  one  that  might  do  a 
brooding  mind  harm.  But  we  took  a  moonlight  walk,  last 
Monday  night,  to  talk  it  over  at  leisure,  and  I  represented  the 
case  to  him  as  it  really  is.  I  showed  him  that  I  do  want  to 
conquer  myself,  and  that,  this  evening  well  got  over,  it  is  surely 
better  that  I  should  be  away  from  here  just  now  than  here.  [ 
could  hardly  help  meeting  certain  people  walking  together 
here,  and  that  could  do  no  good,  and  is  certainly  not  the  way 
to  torget.  A  fortnight  hence,  that  chance  will  probably  be 
over,  for  the  time  ;  and  when  it  again  arises  for  the  last  time, 
why,  I  can  again  go  away.  Further,  I  really  do  feel  hopeful 
of  bracing  exercise  and  wholesome  fatigue.  You  know 
that  Mr.  Crisparkle  allows  such  things  their  full  weight  in 
the  preservation  of  his  own  sound  mind  in  his  own  sound 
body,  and  that  his  just  spirit  is  not  likely  to  maintain  one  set  of 


140  THE   MYSTERY  0E  EDWIN  DR00D. 

natural  laws  for  himself  and  another  for  me.  He  yielded  to  my 
view  of  the  matter,  when  convini  :d  tint  I  was  honestly  in 
earnest,  and  so,  with  his  full  consent,  I  start  to-morrow  morn- 
i  Early  enough  to  be  not  only  out  of  the  streets,  but  out 

of  hearing  of  the  bells,  when  the  good  people  go  to  chnn  h." 

Helena  thinks  il  over,  and  thinks  well  of  it.  Mr.  Crisparkle 
doing  so,  she  would  do  so  ;  but  she  does  originally,  oul  of  her 
own  mind,  think  well  of  it,  as  a  healthy  project,  denoting  a 
sincere  endeavour,  and  an  active  attempt,  at  self-correction.  She 
is  inclined  to  pity  him,  poor  fellow,  for  going  away  solitary  on 
the  great  Christmas  festival  ;  but  she  feels  it  much  more  to  the 
purpose  to  encourage  him.     And  she  does  encourage  him. 

1  Ie  will  write  to  her. 

He  will  write  to  her  every  alternate  day,  and  tell  her  all  his 
adventures. 

Does  he  send  his  clothes  on,  in  advance  of  him  ? 

"  My  dear  Helena,  no.  Travel  like  a  pilgrim,  with  wallet  and 
staff.  My  wallet — or  my  knapsack — is  packed,  and  ready  for 
strapping  on  ;  and  here  i->  my  staff!" 

He  hands  it  to  her  ;  she  makes  the  same  remark  as  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  that  it  is  very  heavy  ;  and  gives  it  back  to  him, 
asking  what  wood  it  ]>?      Iron-wood. 

Up  to  this  point  he  Ins  been  extremely  cheerful.  Perhaps 
the  having  to  carry  his  case  with  her,  and  therefore  to  pn 
it  in  its  brightest  aspect,  has  roused  his  spirits.  Perhaps  the 
having  done  so  with  success  is  followed  by  a  revulsion.  As  the 
day  cios.es  in,  and  the  city  lights  begin  to  spring  up  before  them, 
he  grows  depressed. 

"I  wish  I  were  not  going  to  this  dinner,  Helena." 

"  Dear  Neville,  is  it  worth  while  to  care  much  about  it? 
Think  how  soon  it  will  be  over." 

"  How  soon  it  will  be  over,"  he  repeats,  gloomily.  "  Yes. 
But  I  don't  like  it." 

There  ma)-  be  a  moment's  awkwardness,  she  cheeringly  rep- 
resents to  him,  but  it  can  only  last  a  moment.  He  is  quite 
sure  of  himself. 

"  I  wish  I  felt  as  sure  of  everything  else  as  I  feel  of  myself," 
he  answers  her. 

"  How  strangely  you  speak,  dear  !     What  do  yen  m  •  m  ?  " 

"  Helena,  1  don't  know.  1  only  know  that  I  don't  like  it. 
What  a  strange  dead  weight  there  is  in  the  air  !  " 

She  call  his  attention  to  those  copperous  clouds  beyond  the 
river,  and  says  that  the  wind  is  rising.  He  scarcely  speaks 
again,  until  he  takes  leave  of  her,  at  the  gate  of  the   Nuns' 


WHEN  SHALL    THESE    THREE  MEET  AGAIN t    141 

House.      She   does  nol    Immediately  enter   when    they  have 

pa  i  id,  bul  remains  looking  after  him  along  tl.  Twice 

he  passes  the  Gate  Hon    t,  reluctanl  to  entei .     A 1  length,  the 

1  clo<  !.  <  himin  quai ter,  with  a  rapid  turn  he  hur- 

1  ies  in. 

And  ■'.  up  the  postern  Btair, 

Edwin  Drood  |)asses  a  day.     Something  of  dei 

[thou    -  out  of  I       ife ;  and  in  the 

1  ;  of  his  i     .1  ch  imber  he  wepl  for  it  lasl  night.     Though 
the  image  oj    /Ii      I    n  ill  ho     1    in  1  round  of 

In  .  mind,  and  the  prett)  link  affectionate  en  -  mui  U 

in  mei  and  w  1  iei  than  h  •  had  ;up|  ronghold. 

Ii  1.  with  some  misgiving  ol  hi.  own  unworthiness  thai  he 
thinks  of  her,  and  ol  whal  they  mi  ;hl  I  i  been  to  one  another, 
ii  he  had  been  more  in  eai  ;  if  he  had  set  a 

highci    value  on  her  ;  if,  in  itead  ol  .1.  1  epting  In  \  foi  tune  in  lil 
as  an  inh  ri   m<     ol  com    -.  he  had  lit  way  to  its 

appreciation  and  enhan*  :ment.  And  still,  for  all  this,  and 
though  there  is  a  sharp  heartache  in  all  this,  the  vanity  and 
caprice  of  youth  sustain  thai  handsome  figure  of  Miss  Landless 
in  the  ba<  kground  of  his  mind. 

Thai  wa  1  .1  1  urious  look  of  Rosa's  when  they  parted  at  the 
gate.  Did  11  mean  that  she  saw  below  the  surface  of  his 
though)  ,  and  down  into  their  twilighl  depths  ?  Scarcely  that, 
for  11  was  a  look  of  astonished  and  keen  inquiry.  He  decides 
that  he  cannot  understand  it,  though  it  was  remarkably  ex- 
pi         I.e. 

A  1  he  only  waits  for  Mr.  Grewgious  now,  and  will  depart  im- 
mediately after  having  seen  him,  he  takes  a  sauntering  leave  of 
the  ancient  city  and  its  neighbourhood.  He  recalls  the  time 
when  Rosa  and  he  walked  here  or  there,  mere  children,  full  of 
the  dignity  of  being  engaged.     1'oor  children  !  he  thinks,  with 

1   pii  \  ing  sadness. 

finding  that  his  wai<  h  has  stopped,  he  turns  into  the  jewel- 
ler's shop,  to  have  il  wound  and  set.  The  jeweller  is  knowing 
on  the    ubjei  1  of  a  bracelet,  which  he  begs  leave  to  submit,  in 

;eneral  and  quite  aimless  way.  h  would  suit  (he  1  on  iders) 
a  voun  ■  bride  to  perfei  tion  ;  esp  ■<  1  illj  il  ol  a  1  ither  diminutive 
style  ol  beauty.  Finding  the  bracelet  but  coldly  looked  at,  the 
lei  invit  i  attention  to  a  tray  of  rings  for  gentlemen  ;  here 
is  a  style  ol  ring  now,  he  remarks;  a  verj  chasi  :  signet;  which 
gentlemen  are  much  given  to  purchasing,  when  changing  their 
condition.     A  ring  of  a  very  responsible  appearance.     With  the 


142  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

date  of  their  wedding-day  engraved  inside,  several  gentlemen 
have  preferred  it  to  any  other  kind  of  memento. 

The  rings  are  as  coldly  viewed  as  the  bracelet.  Edwin  tells 
the  tempter  that  he  wears  no  jewelery  but  his  watch  and  chain, 
which  were  his  father's,  and  his  shirt-pin. 

"That  I  was  aware  of,"  is  the  jeweller's  reply,  "for  Mr. 
Jasper  dropped  in  for  a  watch-glass  the  other  day,  and,  in. fact, 
1  showed  these  articles  to  him,  remarking  that  if  he  should  wish 
to  make  a  present  to  a  gentleman  relative,  on  any  particular 
occasion —  But  he  said  with  a  smile  that  he  had  an  inventory 
in  his  mind  of  all  the  jewelry  his  gentleman  relative  ever  wore  ; 
namely,  his  watch  and  chain  and  his  shirt-pin."  Still  (die 
jeweller  considers)  that  might  not  apply  to  all  times,  though  ap- 
plying to  the  present  time.  "Twenty  minutes  past  two,  Mr. 
Drood,  I  set  your  watch  at.  Let  me  recommend  you  not  to 
let  it  run  down,  sir." 

Edwin  takes  his  watch,  puts  it  on,  and  goes  out,  thinking, 
"Dear  old  Jack!  If  I  were  to  make  an  extra  crease  in  my 
neckcloth,  he  would  think  it  worth  noticing  !  " 

He  strolls  about  and  about,  to  pass  the  time  until  the  dinner 
hour.  It  somehow  happens  that  Cloisterham  seems  reproach- 
ful to  him  to-day  :  has  fault  to  find  with  him,  as  if  he  had  not 
used  it  well ;  but  it  is  far  more  pensive  with  him  than  angry. 
His  wonted  carelessness  is  replaced  by  a  wistful  looking  at,  and 
dwelling  upon,  all  the  old  landmarks.  He  will  soon  be  far 
away,  and  may  never  see  them  again,  he  thinks.  Poor  youth  ! 
Poor  youth  ! 

As  dusk  draws  on,  he  paces  the  Monks'  Vineyard.  He  has 
walked  to  and  fro,  full  half  an  hour  by  the  Cathedral  chimes, 
and  it  has  closed  in  dark,  before  he  becomes  quite  aware  of  a 
woman  crouching  on  the  ground  near  a  wicket  gate  in  a  corner. 
The  gate  commands  a  cross  by-path,  little  used  in. the  gloam- 
ing ;  and  the  figure  must  have  been  there  all  the  time,  though 
he  has  but  gradually  and  lately  made  it  out. 

He  strikes  into  that  path,  and  walks  up  to  the  wicket.  By 
the  light  of  a  lamp  near  it,  he  sees  that  the  woman  is  of  a  hag- 
gard appearance,  and  that  her  weazen  chin  is  resting  on  her 
hands,  and  that  her  eyes  are  staring — with  an  unwinking,  blind 
sort  of  steadfastness — before  her. 

Always  kindly,  but  moved  to  be  unusually  kind  this  evening, 
and  having  bestowed  kind  words  on  most  of  the  children  and 
aged  people  he  has  met,  he  at  once  bends  down,  and  speaks 
to  this  woman. 

"  Are  you  ill  ?  " 


WHEN  SHALL    THESE    THREE   MEET  AGAIN? 


143 


"  No,  deary,"  she  answers,  without  looking  at  him,  and  with 
no  departure  from  her  strange  blind  stare. 

"  Are  you  blind  ?  " 

"  No,  deary." 

"Are  you  lost,  homeless,  faint?  What  is  the  matter,  that 
you  stay  here  in  the  cold  so  long,  without  moving?" 

By  slow  and  stiff  efforts,  she  appears  to  contract  her  vision 
until  it  can  rest  upon  him  ;  and  then  a  curious  film  passes  over 
her,  and  she  begins  to  shake. 

He  straightens  himself,  recoils  a  step,  and  looks  down  at  her 
in  a  dread  amazement  ;  for  he  seems  to  know  her. 

"Good  Heaven!"  he  thinks,  next  moment.  "Like  Jack 
that  night  !" 

As  he  looks  down  at  her,  she  looks  up  at  him  and  whimpers, 
"  My  lungs  is  weakly  ;  my  lungs  is  dreffle  bad.  Poor  me,  poor 
me,  my  cough  is  rattling  dry  !"  And  coughs  in  confirmation 
horribly. 

"Where  do  you  come  from  ?" 

"  Come  from  London,  deary."  (Her  cough  still  rending 
her.) 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  ?  " 

"  Back  to  London,  deary.  I  came  here,  looking  for  a  needle 
in  a  haystack,  and  I  ain't  found  it.  Look'ee,  deary  ;  give  me 
three  and  sixpence,  and  don't  you  be  afeard  for  me.  I'll  get 
back  to  London  then,  and  trouble  no  one.  I'm  in  a  business. 
Ah  me!  It's  slack,  it's  slack,  and  times  is  very  bad! — but  I 
can  make  a  shift  to  live  by  it." 

"  Do  you  eat  opium  ?  " 

"  Smokes  it,"  she  replies  with,  difficulty,  still  racked  by  hex 
cough.  "Give  me  three  and  sixpence,  and  I'll  lay  it  out  well, 
and  get  back.  If  you  don't  give  me  three  and  sixpence,  don't 
give  me  a  brass  farden.  And  if  you  do  give  me  three  and  six- 
pence, deary,  I'll  tell  you  something." 

He  counts  the  money  from  his  pocket,  and  puts  it  in  hei 
hand.  She  instantly  clutches  it  tight,  and  rises  to  her  feet  with 
a  croaking  laugh  of  satisfaction. 

"  Bless  ye  !  Harkee,  dear  genl'mn.  What's  your  Chris'en 
name ? " 

"  Edwin." 

'•  Edwin,  Edwin,  Edwin,"  she  repeats,  trailing  off  into  a 
drowsy  repetition  of  the  word,  and  then  asks  suddenly,  "  is  the 
short  of  that  name.  Eddy  ?  " 

"  It  is  sometimes  called  so,"  hj  replies,  with  the  colour  start- 
ing to  his  face. 


144  THE  M'YSTERg   OF  EDWIN-  DROOD 

"  Don't  sweethearts  call  it  so  ?"  she  asks,  pondering. 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  " 

'•  Haven't  you  a  sweetheart,  upon  your  soul?" 

"  None." 

She  is  moving  away  with  another  "  Bless  ye,  and  thank'ee, 
deary  !  "  when  he  adds,  "  You  were  to  tell  me  something  ;  you 
may  as  well  do  so." 

';So  I  was,  so  I  was.  Well,  then.  "Whisper.  You  lx 
thankful  that  your  name  ain't  Ned." 

He  looks  at  her,  quite  steadily,  as  he  asks,  "Why  ?" 

"Because  it's  a  bad  name  to  have  just  now." 

"  How  a  bad  name  ?  " 

"A  threatened  name.     A  dangerous  name." 

"The  proverb  says  that  threatened  men  live  long,"  he  telte 
her,  lightly. 

"  Then  Ned — so  threatened  is  he,  wherever  he  may  be  whilf 
I  am  a  talking  to  you,  deary — should  live  to  all  eternity  !  " 
replies  the  woman. 

She  has  leaned  forward,  to  say  it  in  his  ear,  with  her  fore- 
finger shaking  before  his  eyes,  and  now  huddles  herself  together, 
and  with  another  "Bless  ye,  and  thank'ee  !"  goes  away  in  the 
direction  of  the  Travellers'  Lodging  House. 

This  is  not  an  inspiriting  close  to  a  dull  day.  Alone,  in  a 
sequestered  place,  surrounded  by  vestiges  of  old  time  and 
decay,  it  rather  has  a  tendency  to  call  a  shudder  into  being. 
He  makes  for  the  better  lighted  streets,  and  resolves  as  he 
walks  on  to  say  nothing  of  this  to-night,  but  to  mention  it  to 
Jack  (who  alone  calls  him  Ned),  as  an  odd  coincidence,  to- 
morrow ;  of  course  only  as  a  coincidence,  and  not  as  anything 
better  worth  remembering. 

Still,  it  holds  to  him,  as  many  things  much  better  worth 
remembering  never  did.  He  has  another  mile  or  so  to  linger 
out  before  the  dinner-hour;  and,  when  he  walks  over  the  bridge 
and  by  the  river,  the  woman's  words  are  in  the  rising  wind,  in. 
the  angry  sky,  in  the  troubled  water,  in  the  flickering  lights. 
There  is  some  solemn  echo  of  them,  even  in  the  Cathedral 
chime,  which  strikes  a  sudden  surprise  to  his  heart  as  he  turns 
in  under  the  archway  of  the  Gate  House. 

And  so  he  goes  up  the  postern  stair. 

John  Jasper  passes  a  more  agreeable  and  cheerful  day  than 
either  of  his  guests.  Having  no  music-lessons  to  give  in  the 
holiday  season,  his  time  is  his  own,  but  for  the  Cathedral  ser- 
vices.    He    is    early  among    the    shopkeepers,    ordering   little 


WHEN  SHALL    THESE    THREE  MEET  AGAIN? 


145 


table  luxuries  that  his  nephew  likes.  His  nephew  will  not  be 
with  him  long,  he  tells  his  provision-dealers,  and  so  must  be 
petted  and  made  much  of.  While  out  on  his  hospitable  prep- 
arations, he  looks  in  on  Mr.  Sapsea,  and  mentions  that  dear 
Ned  and  that  inflammable  young  spark  of  Mr.  Crisparkle' s,  are 
to  dine  at  the  Gate  House  to-day,  and  make  up  their  differ- 
ence. Mr.  Sapsea  is  by  no  means  friendly  towards  the  inflam- 
mable young  spark.  He  says  that  his  complexion  is  "  Un- 
English."  And  when  Mr.  Sapsea  has  once  declared  anything 
to  be  Un-English,  he  considers  that  thing  everlastingly  sunk 
in  the  bottomles  pit. 

John  Jasper  is  truly  sorry  to  hear  Mr.  Sapsea  speak  thus,  for 
he  knows  right  well  that  Mr.  Sapsea  never  speaks  without  a 
meaning,  and  that  he  has  a  subtle  trick  of  being  right.  Mr. 
Sapsea  (by  a  very  remarkable  coincidence)  is  of  exactly  that 
opinion. 

Mr.  Jasper  is  in  beautiful  voice  this  day.  In  the  pathetic 
supplication  to  have  his  heart  inclined  to  keep  this  law,  he 
quite  astonishes  his  fellows  by  his  melodious  power.  He  has 
never  sung  difficult  music  with  such  skill  and  harmony  as  in 
this  day's  Anthem.  His  nervous  temperament  is  occasionally 
prone  to  take  difficult  music  a  little  too  quickly ;  to-day,  his 
time  is  perfect. 

These  results  are  probably  attained  through  a  grand  com- 
posure of  the  spirits.  The  mere  mechanism  of  his  throat  is  a 
little  tender,  for  he  wears,  both  with  his  singing-robe  and  with 
his  ordinary  dress,  a  large  black  scarf  of  strong  close-woven 
silk,  slung  loosely  round  his  neck.  But  his  composure  is  so 
noticeable,  that  Mr.  Crisparkle  speaks  of  it,  as  they  come  out 
from  Vespers. 

"  1  must  thank  you,  Jasper,  for  the  pleasure  with  which  I 
have  heard  you  to-day.  Beautiful  !  Delightful  !  You  could 
not  have  so  outdone  yourself,  I  hope,  without  being  wonder- 
fully well." 

"  I  am  wonderfully  well  " 

"  Nothing  unequal,"  says  the  Minor  Canon,  with  a  smooth 
motion  of  his  hand  :  "  nothing  unsteady,  nothing  forced,  nothing 
avoided ;  all  thoroughly  done  in  a  masterly  manner,  with  per- 
fect self-command." 

"Thank  you.      I  hope  so,  if  it  is  not  too  much  to  say." 

"  One  would  think,  Jasper,  you  had  been  trying  a  new 
medicine  for  that  occasional  indisposition  of  yours." 

"  No,  really  ?     That's  well  observed  ;  for  I  have." 

"Then  stick  to  it,  my  good  fellow,"  says  Mr.  Crisparkle 
7 


146  TffE  MYSTERY   OE  EDWIN  DROOD. 

clapping  him  on  the  shoulder  with  friendly  encouragement, — 
"  stick  to  it." 

"  1  will." 

"  1  congratulate  you,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  pursues,  as  they  come 
out  of  the  Cathedral,  "on  all  accounts." 

"Thank  you  again.  I  will  walk  round  to  the  Corner  with 
you,  if  you  don't  object  ;  I  have  plenty  of  time  before  my 
company  come  ;  and  1  want  to  say  a  word  to  you,  which  I 
think  you  will  not  be  displeased  to  hear." 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"Well.  We  were  speaking,  the  other  evening,  of  my  black 
humours." 

Mr.  Crisparkle's  face  falls,  and  he  shakes  his  head  deplor- 
ingly. 

"I  said,  you  know,  that  I  should  make  you  an  antidote  to 
those  black  humours  ;  and  you  said  you  hoped  I  would  consign 
them  to  the  flames." 

"  And  I  still  hope  so,  Jasper." 

"  With  the  best  reason  in  the  world  !  I  mean  to  burn  this 
year's  Diary  at  the  year's  end." 

"  Because  you — ?"  Mr.  Crisparkle  brightens  greatly  as  he 
thus  begins. 

"  You  anticipate  me.  Because  1  feel  that  I  have  been  out 
of  sorts,  gloomy,  bilious,  brain-oppressed,  whatever  it  may  be. 
You  said  I  had  been  exaggerative.     So  I  have." 

Mr.  Crisparkle's  brightened  face  brightens  still  more. 

"  I  couldn't  see  it  then,  because  1  7cas  out  of  sorts  ;  but  I 
am  in  a  healthier  state  now,  and  I  acknowledge  it  with  genu- 
ine pleasure.  I  made  a  great  deal  of  a  very  little  ;  that's  the 
fact." 

"It  does  me  good,"  cries  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "to  hear  you 
say  it ! " 

"A  man  leading  a  monotonous  life,"  Jasper  proceeds,  "and 
getting  his  nerves,  or  his  stomach,  out  of  order,  dwells  upon 
an  idea  until  it  loses  its  proportions.  That  was  my  case  with 
the  idea  in  question.  So  I  shall  burn  the  evidence  of  my  case, 
when  the  book  is  full,  and  begin  the  next  volume  with  a  clearer 
vision." 

"This  is  better,"  says  Mr.  Crisparkle,  stopping  at  the  steps 
of  his  own  door  to  shake  hands,  "  than  I  could  have  hoped  !  " 

"Why,  naturally,"  returns  Jasper.  "You  had  but  little 
reason  to  hope  that  I  should  become  more  like  yourself.  You 
are  always  training  yourself  to  be,  mind  and  body,  as  clear 
as  crystal,  and  you  always  are,  and  never  change  ;  whereas,  I 


WHEN  SHALL    THESE    THREE   MEET  AGAIN 7  i^j 

am  a  muddy,  solitary,  moping  weed.  However,  I  have  got 
over  that  mope.  Shall  1  wait  while  you  ask  if  Mr.  Neville  has 
left  for  my  place?  If  not,  he  and  1  may  walk  round  together." 

"  I  think,"  says  Mr.  Crisparkle,  opening  the  entrance  door 
with  his  key,  "  that  he  left  some  time  ago  ;  at  least  1  know  he 
left,  and  I  think  he  has  not  come  back.  But  I'll  inquire.  You 
won't  come  in  ?  " 

"  My  company  wait,"  says  Jasper,  with  a  smile. 

The  Minor  Canon  disappears,  and  in  a  few  moments  returns. 
As  he  thought,  Mr.  Neville  had  not  come  back  ;  indeed,  as  he 
remembers  now,  Mr.  Neville  said  he  would  probably  go  straight 
to  the  Gate  House. 

"Bad  manners  in  a  host!"  says  Jasper.  "  My  *company 
will  be  there  before  me  !  What  will  you  bet  that  I  don't  rind 
my  company  embracing  ?  " 

"J  will  bet — or  I  would,  if  I  ever  did  bet,"  returns  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle, "that  your  company  will  have  a  gay  entertainer  this 
evening." 

Jasper  nods,  and  laughs  Good  Night ! 

He  retraces  his  steps  to  the  Cathedral  door,  and  turns  down 
past  it  to  the  Gate  House.  He  sings,  in  a  low  voice  and  with 
delicate  expression,  as  he  walks  along.  It  still  seems  as  if  a 
false  note  were  not  within  his  power  to-night,  and  as  if  nothing 
could  hurry  or  retard  him.  Arriving  thus,  under  the  arched  en- 
trance of  his  dwelling,  he  pauses  for  an  instant  in  the  shelter  to 
pull  off  that  great  black  scarf,  and  hang  it  in  a  loop  upon  his 
arm.  For  that  brief  time,  his  face  is  knitted  and  stern.  But 
it  immediately  clears,  as  he  resumes  his  singing,  and  his  way. 

And  so  he  goes  up  the  postern  stair. 

The  red  light  burns  steadily  all  the  evening  in  the  lighthouse 
on  the  margin  of  the  tide  of  busy  life.  Softened  sounds  and 
hum  of  traffic  pass  it  and  flow  on  irregularly  into  the  lonely 
Precincts;  but  very  little  else  goes  by,  save  violent  rushes  of 
wind.      It  comes  on  to  blow  a  boisterous  gale. 

The  Precincts  are  never  particularly  well  lighted  ;  but  the 
strong  blasts  of  wind  blowing  out  many  of  the  lamps  (in  some 
instances  shattering  the  frames  too,  and  bringing  the  glass  rat- 
tling to  the  ground),  they  are  unusually  dark  to-night.  The 
darkness  is  augmented  and  confused  by  flying  dust  from  the 
eaith,  dry  twigs  from  the  trees,  and  great  ragged  fragments  from 
the  rooks'  nests  up  in  the  tower.  The  trees  themselves  so  toss 
and  creak,  as  this  tangible  part  of  the  darkness  madly  whirls 
about,  that  they  seem  in  peril  of  being  torn  out  of  the  earth ; 


!48  THE  MYJTERY    OF  EDWIN  DRDOD. 

while  ever  and  again  a  crack,  and  a  rushing  fall,  denote  that 
some  large  branch  has  yielded  to  the  storm. 

No  such  power  of  wind  has  blown  for  many  a  winter  night. 
Chimneys  topple  in  the  streets,  and  people  hold  to  posts  and 
corners,  and  to  one  another,  to  keep  themselves  upon  their  feet. 
The  violent  rushes  abate  not,  but  increase  in  frequency  and 
fury  until  at  midnight,  when  the  streets  are  empty,  the  storm 
_goes  thundering  along  them,  rattling  at  all  the  latches,  and  tear- 
ing at  all  the  shutters,  as  if  warning  the  people  to  get  up  and 
fly  with  it,  rather  than  have  the  roofs  brought  down  upon  their 
brains. 

Still  the  red  light  burns  steadily.  Nothing  is  steady  but  the 
red  light. 

All  through  the  night  the  wind  blows,  and  abates  not.  But 
early  in  the  morning,  when  there  is  barely  enough  light  in  the 
east  to  dim  the  stars,  it  begins  to  lull.  From  that  time,  with 
occasional  wild  charges,  like  a  wounded  monster  dying,  it  drops 
and  sinks  ;  and  at  full  daylight  it  is  dead. 

It  is  then  seen  that  the  hands  of  the  Cathedral  clock  are  torn 
off;  that  lead  from  the  roof  has  been  stripped  away,  rolled  up, 
and  blown  into  the  Close  ;  and  that  some  stones  have  been 
displaced  upon  the  summit  of  the  great  tower.  Christmas 
morning  though  it  be,  it  is  necessary  to  send  up  workmen,  to 
ascertain  the  extent  of  the  damage  done.  These,  led  by  Dur- 
dles,  go  aloft ;  while  Mr.  Tope  and  a  crowd  of  early  idlers 
gather  down  in  Minor  Canon  Corner,  shading  their  eyes  and 
watching  for  their  appearance  up  there. 

This  cluster  is  suddenly  broken  and  put  aside  by  the  hands 
of  Mr.  Jasper  ;  all  the  gazing  eyes  are  brought  down  to  the 
earth  by  his  loudly  inquiring  of  Mr.  Crisparkle,  at  an  open 
window, — 

"  Where  is  my  nephew  ?  " 

"  He  has  not  been  here.      Is  he  not  with  you  ?  " 

"  No.  He  went  down  to  the  river  last  night,  with  Mr. 
Neville,  to  look  at  the  storm,  and  has  not  been  back.  Call 
Mr.  Neville!" 

"  He  left  this  morning,  early." 

"  Left  this  morning,  early  ?     Let  me  in,  let  me  in  !" 

There  is  no  more  looking  up  at  the  tower,  now.  All  the 
assembled  eyes  are  turned  on  Mr.  Jasper,  white,  half  dressed, 
panting,  and  clinging  to  the  rail  before  the  Minor  Canon's 
house. 


IMPEACHED. 


149 


CHAPTER  XV. 


Impeached. 

EVILLE  LANDLESS  had  started  so  early  and  walked 
at  so  good  a  pace,  that  when  the  church  bells  began 
to  ring  in  Cloisterham  for  morning  service,  he  was 
m  eight  miles  away.  As  he  wanted  his  breakfast  by  that 
time,  having  set  forth  on  a  crust  of  bread,  he  stopped  at  the 
next  roadside  tavern  to  refresh. 

Visitors  in  want  of  breakfast — unless  they  were  horses  or 
cattle,  for  which  class  of  guests  there  was  preparation  enough 
in  the  way  of  water-trough  and  hay — were  so  unusual  at  the 
sign  of  The  Tilted  Wagon,  that  it  took  a  long  time  to  get  the 
wagon  into  the  track  of  tea  and  toast  and  bacon,  Neville,  in 
the  interval,  sitting  in  a  sanded  parlour,  wondering  in  how  long 
a  time  after  he  had  gone,  the  sneezy  fire  of  damp  fagots  would 
begin  to  make  somebody  else  warm. 

Indeed,  The  Tilted  Wagon,  as  a  coo!  establishment  on  the 
top  of  a  hill,  where  the  ground  before  the  door  was  puddled 
with  damp  hoofs  and  trodden  straw  ;  where  a  scolding  land- 
lady slapped  a  moist  baby  (with  one  red  sock  on  and  one 
wanting)  in  the  bar  ;  where  the  cheese  was  cast  aground  upon 
a  shelf,  in  company  with  a  mouldy  tablecloth  and  a  green- 
handled  knife,  in  a  sort  of  cast-iron  canoe  ;  where  the  pale- 
faced  bread  shed  tears  of  crumb  over  its  shipwreck  in  another 
canoe  ;  where  the  family  linen,  half  washed  and  half  dried,  led 
a  public  life  of  lying  about  ;  where  everything  to  drink  was 
drunk  out  of  mugs,  and  everything  else  was  suggestive  of  a 
rhyme  to  mugs, — The  Tilted  Wagon,  all  these  things  con- 
sidered, hardly  kept  its  painted  promise  of  providing  good  en- 
tertainment for  Man  and  Beast.  However,  Man,  in  the  pres- 
ent case,  was  not  critical,  but  took  what  entertainment  he 
could  get,  and  went  on  again  after  a  longer  rest  than  he 
needed. 

He  stopped  at  some  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  house,  hesi- 
tating whether  to  pursue  the  road,  or  to  follow  a  cart-track 
between  two  high  hedgerows,  which  led  across  the  slope  of  a 
breezy  heath,  and  evidently  struck  into  the  road  again  by  and 
by.  He  decided  in  favour  of  this  latter  track,  and  pursued  it 
with  some  toil ;  the  rise  being  steep,  and  the  way  worn  into 
deep  ruts. 


150  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

He  was  labouring  along,  when  he  became  aware  of  some 
other  pedestrians  behind  him.  As  they  were  coming  up  at  a 
faster  pace  than  his,  he  stood  aside,  against  one  of  the  high 
banks,  to  let  them  pass.  But  their  manner  was  very  curious. 
Only  four  of  them  passed.  Other  four  slackened  speed,  and 
loitered  as  intending  to  follow  him  when  he  should  go  on.  The 
remainder  of  the  party  (half  a  dozen  perhaps)  turned,  and 
went  back  at  a  great  rate. 

He  looked  at  the  four  behind  him,  and  he  looked  at  the  four 
before  him.  They  all  returned  his  look.  He  resumed  his  way. 
The  four  in  advance  went  on,  constantly  looking  back  ;  the 
four  in  the  rear  came  closing  up. 

When  they  all  ranged  out  from  the  narrow  track  upon  the 
open  slope  of  the  heath,  and  this  order  was  maintained,  let 
him  diverge  as  he  would  to  either  side,  there  was  no  longer 
room  to  duubt  that  he  was  beset  by  these  fellows.  He  stopped, 
as  a  last  test ;  and  they  ail  stopped. 

"Why  do  you  attend  upon  me  in  this  way?"  he  asked  the 
whole  body.      "Are  you  a  pack  of  thieves  ?  " 

"Don't  answer  him,"  said  one  of  the  number;  he  did  not 
see  which.     "Better  be  quiet." 

"  Better  be  quiet  ?  "  repeated  Neville.      "  Who  said  so  ?  " 

Nobody  replied. 

"  It's  good  advice,  whichever  of  you  skulkers  gave  it,"  he 
went  on  angrily.  "  I  will  not  submit  to  be  penned  in  between 
four  men  there,  and  four  men  there.  1  wish  to  pass,  and  I 
mean  to  pass,  those  four  in  front." 

They  were  all  standing  still,  himself  included. 

"  If  eight  men,  or  four  men,  or  two  men,  set  upon  one,"  he 
proceeded,  growing  more  enraged,  "  the  one  has  no  chance 
but  to  set  his  mark  upon  some  of  them.  And  by  the  Lord  I'll 
do  it,  if  I  am  interrupted  any  further  !  " 

Shouldering  his  heavy  stick,  and  quickening  his  pace,  he  shot 
on  to  pass  the  four  ahead.  The  largest  and  strongest  man  of 
the  number  changed  swiftly  to  the  side  on  which  he  came  up, 
and  dexterously  closed  with  him  and  went  down  with  him  ;  but 
not  before  the  heavy  stick  had  descended  smartly. 

"Let  him  be  !"  said  this  man  in  a  suppressed  voice,  as  they 
struggled  together  on  the  grass.  "Fair  play!  His  is  the 
build  of  a  girl  to  mine,  and  he's  got  a  weight  strapped  to  his. 
back  besides.     Let  him  alone.     I'll  manage  him." 

After  a  little  rolling  about,  in  a  close  scuffle,  which  caused 
the  faces  of  both   to  be  besmeared  with  blood,  the  man  took. 


IMPEACHED. 


151 


his  knee  from  Neville's  chest,  and  rose,  saying,  "There  !  Now 
take  him  arm  in  arm,  any  two  of  you  ! " 

It  was  immediately  done. 

"As  to  our  being  a  pack  of  thieves,  Mr.  Landless,"  said  the 
man,  as  he  spat  out  some  blood,  and  wiped  more  from  his  face, 
"you  know  better  than  that,  at  midday.  We  wouldn't  have 
touched  you,  if  you  hadn't  forced  us.  We're  going  to  take  you 
round  to  the  high-road,  anyhow,  and  you'll  find  help  enough 
against  thieves  there,  if  you  want  it.  Wipe  his  face,  somebody  ; 
see  how  it  is  a  trickling  down  him  ! " 

When  his  face  was  cleansed,  Neville  recognized  in  the 
speaker,  Joe,  driver  of  the  Cloisterham  omnibus,  whom  he  had 
seen  but  once,  and  that  on  the  day  of  his  arrival. 

"  And  what  I  recommend  you  for  the  present,  is,  don't  talk, 
Mr.  Landless.  You'll  find  a  friend  wailing  for  you,  at  the 
high-road, — gone  ahead  by  the  other  way  when  we  split  into 
two  parties, — and  you  had  much  better  say  nothing  till  you 
come  up  with  him.  Bring  that  stick  along,  somebody  else,  and 
let's  be  moving  !  " 

Utterly  bewildered,  Neville  stared  around  him  and  said  not 
a  word.  Walking  between  his  two  conductors,  who  held  his 
arms  in  theirs,  he  went  on.  as  in  a  dream,  until  they  came 
again  into  the  high-road,  and  into  the  midst  of  a  little  group  ot 
people.  The  men  who  had  turned  back  were  among  the  group, 
and  its  central  figures  were  Mr.  Jasper  and  Mr.  Crisparkle. 
Neville's  conductors  took  him  up  to  the  Minor  Canon,  and 
there  released  him,  as  an  act  of  deference  to  that  gentleman. 

"  What  is  all  this,  sir  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  lost  my  senses!''  cried  Neville,  the  group  closing  in  around 
him. 

"  Where  is  my  nephew?"  asked  Mr.  Jasper,  wildly. 

"Where  is  your  nephew?"  repeated  Nelville.  "  Why  do  you 
ask  me  ?  " 

"I  ask  you,"  retorted  Jasper,  "because  you  were  the  last 
person  in  his  company,  and  he  is  not  to  be  found." 

"  Not  to  be  found  !  "  cried  Neville,  aghast. 

"Stay,  stay,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle.  "  Permit  me,  Jasper. 
Mr.  Neville,  you  are  confounded  ;  collect  your  thoughts  ; 
it  is  of  great  importance  that  you  should  collect  your  thoughts  ; 
attend  to  me." 

"  I  will  try,  sir,  but  I  seem  mad." 

"  You  left  Mr.  Jasper's  last  night,  with  Edwin  Drood  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  At  what  hour  ?  " 


152  THE  MYSTERY  OF  ED IV IN  DKOOD. 

"Was  it  at  twelve  o'clock  ?  "  asked  Neville,  with  his  hand  to 
his  contused  head,  and  appealing  to  Jasper. 

"Quite  right,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle  ;  "the  hour  Mr.  Jasper 
has  already  named  to  me.  You  went  down  to  the  river  to- 
gether ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly.     To  see  the  action  of  the  wind  there  ?  " 

"  What  followed  ?     How  long  did  you  stay  there  ?" 
•  "  About  ten   minutes  ;    I  should    say  not   more.       We  then 
walked  together  to  your  house,  and  he  took  leave  of  me  at  the 
door." 

"  Did  he  say  that  he  was  going  down  to  the  river  again  ?  " 

"  No.     He  said  that  he  was  going  straight  back." 

The  bystanders  looked  at  one  another,  and  at  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle. To  whom  Mr.  Jasper,  who  had  been  intensely  watch- 
ing Neville,  said,  in  a  low,  distinct,  suspicious  voice,  "What 
are  those  stains  upon  his  dress  ?  " 

All  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  blood  upon  his  clothes. 

"And  here  are  the  same  stains  upon  this  stick  ?  "  said  Jasper, 
taking  it  from  the  hand  of  the  man  who  held  it.  "  I  know  the 
stick  to  be  his-,  and  he  carried  it  last  night.  What  does  this 
mean  ?  " 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  say  what  it  means,  Neville  !  "  urged 
Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"That  man  and  I,"  said  Neville,  pointing  out  his  late  adver- 
sary, "had  a  struggle  for  the  stick  just  now,  and  you  may  see 
the  same  marks  on  him,  sir.  What  was  I  to  suppose,  when  I 
found  myself  molested  by  eight  people  ?  Could  1  dream  of  the 
true  reason  when  they  would  give  me  none  at  all  ?  " 

They  admitted  that  they  had  thought  it  discreet  to  be  silent, 
and  that  the  struggle  had  taken  place.  And  yet  the  very  men 
who  had  seen  it  looked  darkly  at  the  smears  which  the  bright 
cold  air  had  already  dried. 

"  We  must  return,  Neville,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle  ,  "  of  course 
you  will  be  glad  to  come  back  to  clear  yourself?" 

"  Of  course,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Landless  will  walk  at  my  side,"  the  Minor  Canon  con- 
tinued, looking  around  him.      "Come,  Neville  !" 

They  set  forth  on  the  walk  back  ;  and  the  others,  with  one 
exception,  straggled  after  them  at  various  distances.  Jasper 
walked  on  the  other  side  of  Neville,  and  never  quitted  that  po- 
sition. He  was  silent,  while  Mr.  Crisparkle  more  than  once 
repeated  his  former  questions,  and  while  Neville  repeated  hi? 
former  answers ;  also,  while  they  both  hazarded  some  explana- 
tory conjectures.     He  was  obstinate ly  silent,  because  Mr.  Cris- 


IMPEACHED. 


153 


parkle's  manner  directly  appealed  to  him  to  take  some  part  in 
the  discussion,  and  no  appeal  would  move  his  fixed  face.  When 
they  drew  near  to  the  city,  and  it  was  suggested  by  the  Minor 
Canon  that  ihey  might  Co  well  in  calling  on  the  Mayer  at  once, 
he  assented  with  a  stern  nod  ;  but  he  spake  no  word  until  they 
stood  in  Mr.  Sapsea's  parlour. 

Mr.  Sapsea  being  informed  by  Mr.  Crisparkle  of  the  circum- 
stances under  which  they  desired  to  make  a  voluntary  statement 
before  him,  Mr.  Jasper  broke  silence  by  declaring  that  he  placed 
his  whole  reliance,  humanly  speaking,  on  Mr.  Sapsea's  penetra- 
tion. There  was  no  conceivable  reason  why  his  nephew  should 
have  suddenly  absconded,  unless  Mr.  Sapsea  could  suggest  one, 
and  then  he  would  defer.  There  was  no  intelligible  likelihood  of 
his  having  returned  to  the  river,  and  been  accidentally  drowned 
in  the  dark,  unless  it  should  appear  likely  to  Mr.  Sapsea,  and 
then  again  he  would  defer.  He  washed  his  hands  as  clean  as 
he  could  of  all  horrible  suspicions,  unless  it  should  appear  to 
Mr.  Sapsea  that  some  such  were  inseparable  from  his  last  com- 
panion before  his  disappearance  (not  on  good  terms  with  pre- 
viously), and  then,  once  more,  he  would  defer.  His  own  state 
of  mind,  he  being  distracted  with  doubts,  and  labouring  under 
dismal  apprehensions,  was  not  to  be  safely  trusted  ;  but  Mr. 
Sapsea's  was. 

Mr.  Sapsea  expressed  his  opinion  that  the  case  had  a  dark 
look  ;  in  short  (and  here  his  eyes  rested  full  on  Neville's  coun- 
tenance), an  Un-English  complexion.  Having  made  this  grand 
point,  he  wandered  into  a  denser  haze  and  maze  of  non- 
sense than  even  a  mayor  might  have  been  expected  to  disport 
himself  in,  and  came  out  of  it  with  the  brilliant  discovery  that 
to  take  the  life  of  a  fellow-creature  was  to  take  something  that 
didn't  belong  to  you.  He  wavered  whether  or  no  he  should  at 
once  issue  his  warrant  for  the  committal  of  Neville  Landless  to 
jail,  under  circumstances  of  grave  suspicion  ;  and  he  might  have 
gone  so  far  as  to  do  it  but  for  the  indignant  protest  of  the  Minor 
Canon,  who  undertook  for  the  yourg  man's  remaining  in  his 
own  house,  and  being  produced  by  his  own  hands,  whenever  de- 
manded. Mr.  Jasper  then  understood  Mr.  Sapsea  to  suggest  that 
the  river  should  be  dragged,  that  its  banks  should  be  rigidly  ex- 
amined, that  particulars  of  the  disappearance  should  be  sent  to 
all  outlying  places  and  to  London,  and  that  placards  and  adver- 
tisments  should  be  widely  circulated  imploring  Edwin  Drood,  if 
for  any  unknown  reason  he  had  withdrawn  himself  from  his 
uncle's  home  and  society,  to  take  pity  on  that  loving  kinsman's 
sore  bereavement  and  distress,  and  somehow  inform  him  that 
7* 


154 


THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


he  was  yet  alive.  Mr.  Sapsea  was  perfectly  understood,  for  this 
was  exactly  his  meaning  (though  he  had  said  nothing  about  it)  ; 
and  measures  were  taken  towards  all  these  ends  immediately. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  determine  which  was  the  more  op- 
pressed with  horror  and  amazement,  Neville  Landless  or  John 
Jasper.  But  that  Jasper's  position  forced  him  to  be  active, 
while  Neville's  forced  him  to  be  passive,  there  would  have  been 
nothing  to  choose  between  them.  Each  was  bowed  bown  and 
broken. 

With  the  earliest  light  of  the  next  morning,  men  were  at  work 
upon  the  river,  and  other  men — most  of  whom  volunteered  for 
the  service — were  examining  the  banks.  All  the  livelong  day 
the  search  went  on  ;  upon  the  river,  with  barge  and  pole,  and 
drag  and  net ;  upon  the  muddy  and  rushy  shore,  with  jack-boot, 
hatchet,  spade,  rope,  dogs,  and  all  imaginable  appliances.  Even 
at  night  the  river  was  specked  with  lanterns,  and  lurid  with  fires  ; 
far-off  creeks,  into  which  the  tide  washed  as  it  changed,  had 
their  knots  of  watchers,  listening  to  the  lapping  of  the  stream, 
and  looking  out  for  any  burden  it  might  bear ;  remote  shingly 
causeways  near  the  sea,  and  lonely  points  off  which  there  was  a 
race  of  water,  had  their  unwonted  flaring  cressets  and  rough- 
•toated  figures  when  the  next  day  dawned  ;  but  no  trace  of  Ed- 
win Drood  revisited  the  light  of  the  sun. 

All  that  day,  again,  the  search  went  on.  Now  in  barge  and 
boat ;  and  now  ashore  among  the  osiers,  or  tramping  amidst 
mud  and  stakes  and  jagged  stones  in  low-lying  places,  where 
solitary  watermarks  and  signals  of  strange  shapes  showed  like 
spectres,  John  Jasper  worked  and  toiled.  But  to  no  purpose  ; 
for  still  no  trace  of  Edwin  Drood  revisited  the  light  of  the  sun. 

Setting  his  watches  for  that  night  again,  so  that  vigilant  eyes 
should  be  kept  on  every  change  of  tide,  he  went  home  ex- 
hausted. Unkempt  and  disordered,  bedaubed  with  mud  that  had 
dried  upon  him,  and  with  much  of  his  clothing  torn  to  rags,  he 
had  but  just  dropped  into  his  easy-chair,  when  Mr.  Grewgious 
stood  before  him.  "  Tins  is  strange  news,"  said  Mr.  Grew- 
gious. 

"Strange  and  fearful  news." 

Jasper  had  merely  lifted  up  his  heavy  eyes  to  say  it,  and  now 
dropped  them  again  as  he  drooped,  worn  out,  over  one  side 
of  his  easy-chair. 

Mr.  Grewgious  smoothed  his  head  and  face,  and  stood  look- 
ing at  the  fire. 

"  How  is  your  ward  ?  "  asked  Jasper,  after  a  time,  in  a  faint, 
fatigued  voice. 


IMPEACHED. 


155 


"  Tool  little  thing  !     You  may  imagine  her  condition." 

"  Have  you  seen  his  sister  ?"  inquired  Jasper,  as  before. 

"  Whose  ?  " 

The  curtness  of  the  counter-question,  and  the  cool,  slow 
manner  in  which,  as  he  put  it,  Mr.  Grewgious  moved' his  eyes 
from  the  fire  to  his  companion's  face,  might  at  any  other  time 
have  been  exasperating.  In  his  depression  and  exhaustion, 
Jasper  merely  opened  his  eyes  to  say,  "The  suspected  young 
man's." 

"  Do  you  suspect  him  ?"  asked  Mr.  Grewgious. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think.      I  cannot  make  up  my  mind." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  But  as  you  spoke  of  him 
as  the  suspected  young  man,  1  thought  you  had  made  up  your 
mind. — I  have  just  left  Miss  Landless." 

"  What  is  her  state?" 

"  Defiance  of  all  suspicion,  and  unbounded  faith  in  her 
brother." 

"  Poor  thing  !  " 

"  However,"  pursued  Mr.  Grewgious,  "it  is  not  of  her  that 
[  came  to  speak.  It  is  of  my  ward.  I  have  a  communication 
to  make  that  will  surprise  you.     At  least  it  has  surprised  me." 

Jasper,  with  a  groaning  sigh,  turned  wearily  in  his  chair. 

"Shall  I  put  it  off  till  to-morrow?"  said  Mr.  Grewgious. 
"  Mind  !      I  warn  you,  that  I  think  it  will  surprise  you  !  " 

More  attention  and  concentration  came  into  John  Jasper's 
eyes  as  they  caught  sight  of  Mr.  Grewgious  smoothing  his  head 
again,  and  again  looking  at  the  fire  ;  but  now,  with  a  com- 
pressed and  determined  mouth. 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  Jasper,  becoming  upright  in  his 
chair. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  provokingly,  slowly,  and 
internally,  as  he  kept  his  eyes  on  the  fire,  "  I  might  have 
known  it  sooner  ;  she  gave  me  the  opening  ;  but  I  am  such  an 
exceedingly  Angular  man,  that  it  never  occurred  to  me;  I  took 
all  for  granted." 

"  What  is  it?"  demanded  Jasper,  once  more. 

Mr.  Grewgious,  alternately  opening  and  shutting  the  palms 
of  his  hands  as  he  warmed  them  at  the  fire,  and  looking  fixedly 
at  him  sideways,  and  never  changing  either  his  action  or  his 
look  in  all  that  followed,  went  on  to  reply. 

"This  young  couple,   the    lost  youth    and    Miss   Rosa,   my 
ward,  though  so  long  betrothed,  and  so  long  recognizing  their 
betrothal,  and  so  near  being  married — " 
\  Mr.  Grewgious  saw  a  staring  white  face  and   twe  quivering 


156  THE  MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

white  lips,  in  the  easy-chair,  and  saw  two  muddy  hands  grip- 
ping its  sides.  But  for  the  hands,  he  might  have  thought  he 
had  never  seen  the  face. 

" — This  young  couple  came  gradually  to  the  discovery  (made 
on  both  sides  pretty  equally,  I  think)  that  they  would  be  hap- 
pier and  better,  both  in  their  present  and  their  future  lives,  as 
affectionate  friends,  or  say  rather  as  brother  and  sister,  than  as 
husband  and  wife." 

Mr.  Grevvgious  saw  a  lead-coloured  face  in  the  easy-chair, 
and  on  its  surface  dreadful  starting  drops  or  bubbles,  as  if  of 
steel. 

"  This  young  couple  formed  at  length  the  healthy  resolution 
of  interchanging  their  discoveries,  openly,  sensibly,  and  ten- 
derly. They  met  for  that  purpose.  After  some  innocent  and 
generous  talk,  they  agreed  to  dissolve  their  existing,  and  their 
intended,  relations,  for  ever  and  ever." 

Mr.  Grewgious  saw  a  ghastly  figure  rise,  open-mouthed, 
from  the  easy-chair,  and  lift  its  outspread  hands  towards  its 
head. 

"  One  of  this  young  couple,  and  that  one  your  nephew,  fear- 
ful, however,  that  in  the  tenderness  of  your  affection  for  hirri 
you  would  be  bitterly  disappointed  by  so  wide  a  departure 
from  his  projected  life,  forbore  to  tell  you  the  secret,  for  a  few 
days,  and  left  it  to  be  disclosed  by  me,  when  I  should  come 
down  to  speak  to  you,  and  he  would  be  gone.  I  speak  to  you, 
and  he  is  gone." 

Mr.  Grewgious  saw  the  ghastly  figure  throw  back  its  head, 
clutch  its  hair  with  its  hands,  and  turn  with  a  writhing  action 
from  him. 

"  I  have  now  said  all  I  have  to  say,  except  that  this  young 
couple  parted,  firmly,  though  not  without  tears  and  sorrow,  on 
the  evening  when  you  last  saw  them  together." 

Mr.  Grewgious  heard  a  terrible  shriek,  and  saw  no  ghastly 
figure,  sitting  or  standing  ;  saw  nothing  but  a  heap  of  torn  and 
miry  clothes  upon  the  floor. 

Not  changing  his  action  even  then,  he  opened  and  shut  the 
palms  of  his  hands  as  he  warmed  them,  and  looked  down  at  it. 


DEVOTED.  jt;7 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Devoted. 

HEN   John  Jasper  recovered  from  his  fit  or  swoon,  he 

found  himself  being  tended  by  Mr.   and   Mrs.   Tope, 

whom  his  visitor  had  summoned  for  the  purpose.     His 

visitor,  wooden  of  aspect,  sat  stiffly  in  a  chair,  with  his 

hands  upon  his  knees,  watching.his  recovery. 

"  There  !  You've  come  to  nicely  now,  sir,"  said  the  tearful 
Mrs.  Tope  ;   "  you  were  thoroughly  worn  out,  and  no  wonder  !  " 

"A  man,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  his  usual  air  of  repeat- 
ing a  lesson,  "  cannot  have  his  rest  broken,  and  his  mind 
cruelly  tormented,  and  his  body  overtaxed  by  fatigue,  without 
being  thoroughly  worn  out." 

"I  fear  I  have  alarmed  you?"  Jasper  apologized  faintly, 
when  he  was  helped  into  his  easy-chair. 

"  Not  at  all,  I  thank  you,"  answered  Mr.  Grewgious. 

"  You  are  too  considerate." 

"  Not  at  all,  I  thank  you,"  answered  Mr.  Grewgious  again. 

"  You  must  take  some  wine,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Tope,  "  and  the 
jelly  that  I  had  ready  for  you,  and  that  you  wouldn't  put  your 
lips  to  at  noon,  though  I  warned  you  what  would  come  of  it, 
you  know,  and  you  not  breakfasted ;  and  you  must  have  a 
a  wing  of  the  roast  fowl  that  has  been  put  back  twenty  times 
if  it's  been  put  back  once.  It  shall  all  be  on  table  in  five 
minutes,  and  this  good  gentleman  belike  will  stop  and  see  you 
take  it." 

This  good  gentleman  replied  with  a  snort,  which  might  mean 
yes,  or  no,  or  anything,  or  nothing,  and  which  Mrs.  Tope 
would  have  found  highly  mystifying,  but  that  her  attention  was 
divided  by  the  service  of  the  table. 

"You  will  take  something  with  me?"  said  Jasper,  as  the 
cloth  was  laid. 

"  I  couldn't  get  a  morsel  down  my  throat,  I .  thank  you," 
answered  Mr.  Grewgious. 

Jasper  both  ate  and  drank  almost  voraciously.  Combined 
with  the  hurry  in  his  mode  of  doing  it,  was  an  evident  indiffer- 
ence to  the  taste  of  what  he  took,  suggesting  that  he  ate  and 
drank  to  fortify  himself  against  any  other  failure  of  the  spirits, 
far  more  than  to  gratify  his  palate.  Mr.  Grewgious  in  the 
mean  time  sat  upright,  with  no  expression  in  his  face,  and  a 


:><-> 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


hard  kind  of  impert'urbably  polite  protest  all  over  him  :  as 
though  he  would  have  said,  in  reply  to  some  invitation  to  dis- 
course, "  1  couldn't  originate  the  faintest  approach  to  an  obser- 
vation on  any  subject  whatever,  I  thank  you." 

"  Do  yon  know,"  said  Jasper,  when  he  had  pushed  away  his 
plate  and  glass,  and  had  sat  meditating  for  a  few  minutes, — "  do 
you  know  that  I  find  some  crumbs  of  comfort  in  the  commu- 
nication with  which  you  have  so  much  amazed  me  ?" 

"Do  you?"  returned  Mr..  Grewgious ;  pretty  plainly  adding 
the  unspoken  clause,  "  I  don't,  I  thank  you  !  " 

':  After  recovering  from  the  shock  of  a  piece  of  news  of  my 
dear  boy,  so  entirely  unexpected,  and  so  destructive  of  all  the 
castles  I  had  built  for  him  ;  and  after  having  had  time  to  think 
of  it ;  yes." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  pick  up  your  crumbs,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious, 
dryly. 

"  Is  there  not,  or  is  there — if  I  deceive  myself,  tell  me  so, 
and  shorten  my  pain — is  there  not,  or  is  there,  hope  that,  find- 
ing himself  in  this  new  position,  and  becoming  sensitively  alive 
to  the  awkward  burden  of  explanation,  in  this  quarter,  and 
that,  and  the  other,  with  which  it  would  load  him,  he  avoided 
the  awkwardness,  and  took  to  flight  ?  " 

"Such  a  thing  might  be,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  pondering. 

"Such  a  thing  has  been.  I  have  read  of  cases  in  which 
people,  rather  than  face  a  seven  days'  wonder,  and  have  to  ac- 
count for  themselves  to  the  idle  and  importunate,  have  taken 
themselves  away,  and  been  long  unheard  of." 

"  I  believe  such  things  have  happened,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious, 
pondering  still. 

"  When  I  had,  and  could  have,  no  suspicion,"  pursued  Jas- 
per, eagerly  following  the  new  track,  "that  the  dear  lost  boy 
had  withheld  anything  from  me, — most  of  all,  such  a  leading 
matter  as  this, — what  gleam  of  light  was  there  for  me  in  the 
whole  black  sky  ?  When  I  supposed  that  his  intended  wife 
was  here,  and  his  marriage  close  at  hand,  how  could  I  enter- 
tain the  possibility  of  his  voluntarily  leaving  this  place,  in  a 
manner  that  would  be  so  unaccountable,  capricious,  and  cruel  ? 
But  now  that  I  know  what  you  have  told  me,  is  there  no  little 
chink  through  which  day  pierces  ?  Supposing  him  to  have  dis- 
appeared of  his  own  act,  is  not  his  disappearance  more  account- 
able and  less  cruel?  The  fact  of  his  having  just  parted  from 
your  ward  is  in  itself  a  sort  of  reason  for  his  going  away.  It 
does  not  make  his  mysterious  departure  the  less  cruel  to  me,  it 
is  true  ;  but  it  relieves  it  of  cruelty  to  her." 


DEVOTED. 


159 


Mr.  Grewgious  could  not  but  assent  to  this. 

"  And  even  as  to  me,"  continued  Jasper,  still  pursuing  the 
new  track,  with  ardour,  and,  as  he  did  so,  brightening  with  hope  : 
"  he  knew  that  you  were  coming  to  me  ;  he  knew  that  you  were 
intrusted  to  tell  me  what  you  have  told  me  ;  if  your  doing  so 
has  awakened  a  new  train  of  thought  in  my  perplexed  mind,  it 
reasonably  follows  that,  from  the  same  premises,  he  might  have 
foreseen  the  inferences  that  I  should  draw.  Grant  that  he  did 
foresee  them  ;  and  even  the  cruelty  to  me — and  who  am  I  ! — 
John  Jasper,  Music  Master! — vanishes." 

Once  more,  Mr.  Grewgious  could  not  but  assent  to  this. 

"  I  have  had  my  distrusts,  and  terrible  distrusts  they  have 
been,"  said  Jasper ;  "  but  your  disclosure,  overpowering  as  it 
was  at  first, — showing  me  that  my  own  dear  boy  had  had  a 
great  disappointing  reservation  from  me,  who  so  fondly  loved 
him, — kindles  hope  within  me.  You  do  not  extinguish  it  when 
I  state  it,  but  admit  it  to  be  a  reasonable  hope.  I  begin  to  be- 
lieve it  possible  " — here  he  clasped  his  hands — "that  he  may 
have  disappeared  from  among  us  of  his  own  accord,  and  that  he 
may  yet  be  alive  and  well  ! " 

Mr.  Grisparkle  came  in  at  the  moment,  to  whom  Mr.  Jas- 
per repeated, 

"  I  begin  to  believe  it  possible  that  he  may  have  disappeared 
of  his  own  accord,  and  may  yet  be  alive  and  well  ! " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  taking  a  seat,  and  inquiring  "Why  so?" 
Mr.  Jasper  repeated  the  arguments  he  had  just  set  forth.  If 
they  had  been  less  plausible  than  they  were,  the  good  Minor 
Canon's  mind  would  have  been  in  a  state  of  preparation  to  re- 
ceive them,  as  exculpatory  of  his  unfortunate  pupil.  But  he, 
too,  did  really  attach  great  importance  to  the  lost  young  man's 
having  been,  so  immediately  before  his  appearance,  placed  in 
a  new  and  embarrassing  relation  towards  every  one  acquainted 
with  his  projects  and  affairs  ;  and  the  fact  seemed  to  him  to 
present  the  question  in  a  new  light. 

"I  stated  to  Mr.  Sapsea,  when  we  waited  on  him,"  said  Jas- 
per, as  he  really  had  done,  "  that  there  was  no  quarrel  or 
difference  between  the  two  young  men  at  their  last  meeting. 
We  all  know  that  their  first  meeting  was,  unfortunately,  very 
far  from  amicable  ;  but  all  went  smoothly  and  quietly  when 
they  were  last  together  at  my  house.  My  dear  boy  was  not  in 
his  usual  spirits  ;  he  was  depressed, — I  noticed  that, — and  I 
am  bound  henceforth  to  dwell  upon  the  circumstance  the  more, 
now  that  I  know  there  was  a  special  reason  for  his  being  de- 


l6o  THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

pressed, — a  reason,  moreover,  which  may  possibly  have  in- 
duced him  to  absent  himself." 

"I  pray  to  Heaven  it  may  turn  out  so!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Crisparkle. 

"/pray  to  Heaven  it  may  turn  out  so!"  repeated  Jasper. 
"You  know — and  Mr.  Grewgious  should  now  know  likewise — 
that  I  took  a  great  prepossession  against  Mr.  Neville  Landless, 
arising  out  of  his  furious  conduct  on  that  first  occasion.  You 
know  that  I  came  to  you,  extremely  apprehensive,  on  my 
dear  boy's  behalf,  of  his  mad  violence.  You  know  that  I  even 
entered  in  my  Diary,  and  showed  the  entry  to  you,  that  I  had 
dark  forebodings  against  him.  Mr.  Grewgious  ought  to  be 
possessed  of  the  whole  case.  He  shall  not,  through  any  sup- 
pression of  mine,  be  informed  of  a  part  of  it,  and  kept  in  igno- 
rance of  another  part  of  it.  I  wish  him  to  be  good  enough  to 
understand  that  the  communication  he  has  made  to  me  has 
hopefully  influenced  my  mind,  in  spite  of  its  having  been,  be- 
fore this  mysterious  occurrence  took  place,  profoundly  impressed 
against  young  Landless." 

This  fairness  troubled  the  Minor  Canon  much.  He  felt  that 
he  was  not  as  open  in  his  own  dealing.  He  charged  against 
himself  reproachfully  that  he  had  suppressed,  so  far,  the  two 
points  of  a  second  strong  outbreak  of  temper  against  Edwin 
Drood  on  the  part  of  Neville,  and  of  the  passion  of  jealousy 
having,  to  his  own  certain  knowledge,  flamed  up  in  Neville's 
breast  against  him.  He  was  convinced  of  Neville's  innocence 
of  any  part  in  the  ugly  disappearance,  and  yet  so  many  little 
circumstances  combined  so  wofully  against  him,  that  he  dreaded 
to  add  two  more  to  their  cumulative  weight.  He  was  among 
the  truest  of  men  ;  but  he  had  been  balancing  in  his  mind, 
much  to  its  distress,  whether  his  volunteering  to  tell  these  two 
fragments  of  truth,  at  this  time,  would  not  be  tantamount  to  a 
piecing  together  of  falsehood  in  the  place  of  truth. 

However,  here  was  a  model  before  him.  He  hesitated  no 
longer.  Addressing  Mr.  Grewgious,  as  one  placed  in  authority 
by  the  revelation  he  had  brought  to  bear  on  the  mystery  (and 
surpassingly  Angular  Mr.  Grewgious  became  when  he  found 
himself  in  that  unexpected  position),  Mr.  Crisparkle  bore  his 
testimony  to  Mr.  Jasper's  strict  sense  of  justice,  and,  expressing 
his  absolute  confidence  in  the  complete  clearance  of  his  pupil 
from  the  least  taint  of  suspicion,  sooner  or  later,  avowed  that 
his  confidence  in  that  young  gentleman  had  been  formed,  in 
spite  of  his  confidential  knowledge  that  his  temper  was  of  the 
hottest  and  fiercest,  and  that   it  was  directly  incensed   against 


DEVOTED.  l6l 

Mr.  Jasper's  nephew,  by  the  circumstance  of  his  romantically 
supposing  himself  to  be  enamoured  of  the  same  young  lady. 
The  sanguine  reaction  manifest  in  Mr.  Jasper  was  proof  even 
against  this  unlooked-for  declaration.  It  turned  him  paler  ; 
but  he  repeated  that  he  would  cling  to  the  hope  he  had  derived 
from  Mr.  Grewgious ;  and  that  if  no  trace  of  his  dear  boy  were 
found,  leading  to  the  dreadful  inference  that  he  hail  been  made 
away  with,  he  would  cherish  unto  the  last  stretch  of  possibility, 
the  idea,  that  he  might  have  absconded  of  his  own  wild  will. 

Now,  it  fell  out  that  Mr.  Crisparkle,  going  away  from  this 
conference  still  very  uneasy  in  his  mind,  and  very  much  troubled 
on  behalf  of  the  young  man  whom  he  held  as  a  kind  of  prisoner 
in  his  own  house,  took  a  memorable  night  walk. 

He  walked  to  Cloisterham  Weir. 

He  often  did  so,  and  consequently  there  was  nothing  re- 
markable in  his  footsteps  tending  that  way.  But  the  preoccu- 
pation of  his  mind  so  hindered  him  from  planning  any  walk  or 
taking  heed  of  the  objects  he  passed,  that  his  first  consciousness 
of  being  near  the  Weir  was  derived  from  the  sound  of  the  fall- 
ing water  close  at  hand. 

"  How  did  I  come  here  !  "  was  his  first  thought,  as  he 
stopped. 

"  Why  did  I  come  here  !  "   was  his  second. 

Then,  he  stood  intently  listening  to  the  water.  A  familiar 
passage  in  his  reading,  about  airy  tongues  that  syllable  men's 
names,  rose  so  unbidden  to  his  ear,  that  he  put  it  from  him 
with  his  hand,  as  if  it  were  tangible. 

It  was  starlight.  The  Weir  was  full  two  miles  above  the 
spot  to  which  the  young  men  had  repaired  to  watch  the  storm. 
No  search  had  been  made  up  here,  for  the  tide  had  been  run- 
ning strongly  down  at  that  time  of  the  night  of  Christmas  Eve, 
and  the  likeliest  places  for  the  discovery  of  a  body,  if  a  fatal 
accident  had  happened  under  such  circumstances,  all  lay — both 
when  the  tide  ebbed,  and  when  it  flowed  again — between  that 
spot  and  the  sea.  The  water  came  over  the  Weir,  with  its  usual 
sound  on  a  cold  starlight  night,  and  little  could  be  seen  of  it  ; 
yet  Mr.  Crisparkle  had  a  strange  idea  that  something  unusual 
hung  about  the  place. 

He  reasoned  with  himself:  What  was  it?  Where  was  it? 
Put  it  to  the  proof.     Which  sense  did  it  address  ? 

No  sense  reported  anything  unusual  there.  He  listened 
again,  and  his  sense  of  hearing  again  checked  the  water  coming 
over  the  Weir,  with  its  usual  sound  on  a  cold,  starlight  night. 

Knowing  very  well   that   the  mystery   with  which  his  mind 


1 62  THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

was  occupied  might  of  itself  give  the  place  this  haunted  air,  he 
strained  those  hawk's  eyes  of  his  for  the  correction  of  his  sight. 
He  got  closer  to  the  Weir,  and  peered  at  its  well-known  posts 
and  timbers.  Nothing  in  tin:  least  unusual  was  remotely 
shadowed  forth.  But  he  resolved  that  he  would  come  back 
earl)--  in  the  morning. 

The  Weir  ran  through  his  broken  sleep  all  night,  and  he  was 
back  again  at  sunrise.  It  was  a  bright  frosty  morning.  The 
whole  composition  before  him.  when  he  stood  where  he  had 
stood  last  night,  was  clearly  discernible  in  its  minutest  de- 
tails. He  had  surveyed  it  closely  for  some  minutes,  and  was 
about  to  withdraw  his  eyes  when  they  were  attracted  keenly  to 
one  spot. 

He  turned  his  back  upon  the  Weir,  and  looked  far  away  at 
the  sky,  and  at  the  earth,  and  then  looked  again  at  that  one 
spot.  It  caught  his  sight  again  immediately,  and  he  concen- 
trated his  vision  upon  it.  He  could  not  lose  it  now,  though  it 
was  but  such  a  speck  in  the  landscape.  It  fascinated  his  sight. 
His  hands  began  plucking  oft'  his  coat.  For  it  struck  him  that 
at  that  spot — a  corner  of  the  Weir — something  glistened,  which 
did  not  move  and  come  over  with  the  glistening  water-drops, 
but  remained  stationary. 

He  assured  himself  of  this,  he  threw  off  his  clothes,  he 
plunged  into  the  icy  water,  and  swam  for  the  spot.  Climbing 
the  timbers,  he  took  from  them,  caught  among  their  interstices 
by  its  chain,  a  gold  watch,  bearing  engraved  upon  its  bac!v, 
E.  D. 

He  brought  the  watch  to  the  bank,  swam  to  the  Weir  again, 
climbed  it,  and  dived  off.  He  knew  every  hole  and  corner  of  all 
the  depths,  and  dived  and  dived  and  dived,  until  lie  could  bear 
the  cold  no  more.  His  notion  was  that  he  could  find  the  bod)  ; 
but  he  only  found  a  shirt-pin  sticking  in  some  mud  and  ooze. 

With  these  discoveries  he  returned  to  Cloisterham,  and,  tak- 
ing Neville  Landless  with  him,  went  straight  to  the  Mayor. 
Mr.  Jasper  was  sent  for,  the  watch  and  shirt-pin  were  identified, 
Neville  was  detained,  and  the  wildest  frenzy  and  fatuity  of  evil 
report  arose  against  him.  He  was  of  that  vindictive  and  violent 
nature,  that  but  for  his  poor  sister,  who  alone  had  influence  over 
him,  and  out  of  whose  sight  he  was  never  to  be  trusted,  he 
would  be  in  the  daily  commission  of  murder.  Before  coming 
to  England  he  had  caused  to  be  whipped  to  death  sundry  "  Na- 
tives,"— nomadic  persons,  encamping  now  in  Asia,  now  in 
Africa,  now  in  the  West  Indies,  and  now  at  the  North  Pole, — 
vaguely  supposed  in  Cloisterham  to  be  always  black,  always  of 


DEVOTED.  163 

great  virtue,  always  calling  themselves  Me,  and  everybody  else 
Massa  or  Missie  (according  to  sex),  and  always  reading  tracts 
of  the  obscurest  meaning,  in  broken  English,  but  always  under- 
standing them  in  the  purest  mother  tongue.  He  had  nearly 
brought  Mrs.  Crisparkle's  gray  hairs  with  sorrow. to  the  grave. 
(Those  original  expressions  were  Mr.  Sapsea's.)  He  had  re- 
peatedly said  he  would  have  Mr.  Crisparkle's  life.  He  had 
repeatedly  said  he  would  have  everybody's  life,  and  become  in 
effect  the  last  man.  He  had  been  brought  down  to.  Cloister- 
ham,  from  London,  by  an  eminent  Philanthropist,  and  why  ? 
Because  that  Philanthropist,  had  expressly  declared,  "I  owe  it 
to  my  fellow-creatures  that  he  should  be,  in  the  words  of  Pent- 
ham,  where  he  is  the  cause  of  the  greatest  danger  to  the  small- 
est number." 

These  dropping  shots  from  the  blunderbusses  of  blunder- 
headedness  might  not  have  hit  him  in  a  vital  place.  But  he 
had  to  stand  against  a  trained  and  well-directed  fire  of  arms  of 
precision  too.  He  had  notoriously  threatened  the  lost  young 
man,  and  had,  according  to  the  showing  of  his  own  faithful 
friend  and  tutor,  who  strove  so  hard  for  him,  a  cause  of  bitter 
animosity  (created  by  himself,  and  stated  by  himself)  against 
that  ill-starred  fellow.  He  had  armed  himself  with  an  offensive 
weapon  for  the  fatal  night,  and  had  gone  off  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, after  making  preparations  for  departure.  He  had  been 
found  with  traces  of  blood  on  him  ;  true,  they  might  have  been 
wholly  caused  as  he  represented,  but  they  might  not,  also.  On 
a  search-warrant  being  issued  for  the  examination  of  his  room, 
clothes,  and  so  forth,  it  was  discovered  that  he  had  destroyed 
all  his  papers,  and  re-arranged  all  his  possessions,  on  the  very 
afternoon  of  the  disappearance.  The  watch  found  at  the  Weir 
was  challenged  by  the  jeweller  as  one  he  had  wound  and 
set  for  Edwin  Drood,  at  twenty  minutes  past  two  on  that  same 
afternoon  ;  and  it  had  run  down,  before  being  cast  into  the 
water  ;  and  it  was  the  jeweller's  positive  opinion  that  it  had 
never  been  rewound.  This  would  justify  the  hypothesis  that 
the  watch  was  taken  from  him  not  long  after  he  left  Mr. 
Jasper's  house  at  midnight,  in  company  with  the  last  person 
seen  with  him,  and  that  it  had  been  thrown  away  after  being  re- 
tained some  hours.  Why  thrown  away  ?  If  he  had  been  mur- 
dered, and  so  artfully  disfigured,  or  concealed,  or  both,  as  that 
the  murderer  hoped  identification  to  be  impossible,  except  from 
something  that  he  wore,  assuredly  the  murderer  would  seek  to 
remove  from  the  body*  the  most  lasting,  the  best  known,  and 
the    most    easily  recognizable   things  upon    it.     Those    things 


1^4  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

would  be  the  watch  and  shirt-pin.  As  to  his  opportunities  of 
casting  them  into  the  river  ;  if  he  were  the  object  of  these  sus- 
picions, they  were  easy.  For  he  had  been  seen  by  many  per- 
sons, wandering  about  on  that  side  of  the  city — indeed  on  all 
sides  of  it — in  a  miserable  and  seemingly  half-distracted  manner. 
As  to  the  choice  of  the  spot,  obviously  such  criminating  evidence 
had  better  take  its  chance  of  being  found  anywhere,  rather  than 
upon  himself  or  in  his  possession.  Concerning  the  reconcilia- 
tory  nature  of  the- appointed  meeting  between  the  two  young 
men,  very  litde  could  be  made  of  that,  in  young  Landless's  fa- 
vour; for  it  distinctly  appeared  that  the  meeting  originated, 
not  with  him,  but  with  Mr.  Crisparkle,  and  that  it  was  urged 
on  by  Mr.  Crisparkle  ;  and  who  could  say  how  unwillingly,  or 
in  what  ill-conditioned  mood,  his  enforced  pupil  had  gone  to  it  ? 
The  more  his  case  was  looked  into,  the  weaker  it  became  in 
every  point.  Even  the  broad  suggestion  that  the  lost  young 
man  had  absconded  was  rendered  additionally  improbable  on 
the  showing  of  the  young  lady  from  whom  he  had  so  lately  parted  ; 
for,  what  did  she  say,  with  great  earnestness  and  sorrow,  when 
interrogated :  That  he  had,  expressly  and  enthusiastically, 
planned  with  her,  that  he  would  await  the  arrival  of  her  guar- 
dian, Mr.  Grewgious.  And  yet,  be  it  observed,  he  disappeared 
before  that  gentleman  appeared. 

On  the  suspicions  thus  urged  and  supported,  Neville  was  de- 
tained and  re-detained,  and  the  search  was  pressed  on  every 
hand,  and  Jasper  laboured  night  and  day.  Bur  nothing  more 
was  found.  No  discovery  being  made  which  proved  the  lost 
man  to  be  dead,  it  at  length  became  necessary  to  release  the 
person  suspected  of  having  made  away  with  him.  Neville  was 
set  at  large.  Then  a  consequence  ensued  which  Mr.  Crisparkle 
had  too  well  foreseen.  Neville  must  leave  the  place,  for  the 
place  shunned  him  and  cast  him  out.  Even  had  it  not  been  so, 
the  dear  old  china  shepherdess  would  have  worried  herself  to 
death  with  fears  for  her  son,  and  with  general  trepidation  occa- 
sioned by  their  having  such  an  inmate.  Even  had  that  not  been 
so,  the  authority  to  which  the  Minor  Canon  deferred  officially 
would  have  settled  the  point. 

"  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  quoth  the  Dean,  "human  justice  may  err, 
but  it  must  act  according  to  its  lights.  The  days  of  taking 
sanctuary  are  past.  This  young  man  must  not  take  sanctuary 
with  us." 

"  You  mean  that  he  must  leave  my  house,  sir  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  returned  the  prudent  Dean,  "  I  claim  no 
authority  in  your  house.      I  merely  confer  with  you,    on    the 


DEVOTED. 


165 


painful  necessity  you  find  yourself  under,  of  depriving  this 
young  man  of  the  great  advantages  of  your  counsel  and  in- 
struction." 

"  It  is  very  lamentable,  sir,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  represented. 

"  Very  much  so,"  the  Dean  assented. 

"  And  if  it  be  a  necessity,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  faltered. 

"  As  you  unfortunately  find  it  to  be — "  returned  the  Dean. 

Mr.  Crisparkle  bowed  submissively.  "It  is  hard  to  prejudge 
his  case,  sir,  but  I  am  sensible  that — " 

'•Just  so.  Perfectly.  As  you  say,  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  inter- 
posed the  Dean,  nodding  his  head  smoothly,  "there  is  nothing 
else  to  be  done.  No  doubt,  no  doubt.  There  is  no  alterna- 
tive, as  your  good  sense  has  discovered." 

"  I  am  entirely  satisfied  of  his  perfect  innocence,  sir,  never- 
theless." 

"  We-e-ell  !"  said  the  Dean,  in  a  more  confidential  tone,  and 
slightly  glancing  around  him,  "  I  would  not  say  so,  generally. 
Not  generally.  Enough  of  suspicion  attaches  to  him  to — no,  I 
think  I  would  not  say  so,  generally." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  bowed  again. 

"It  does  not  become  us,  perhaps,"  pursued  the  Dean,  "to 
be  partisans.  Not  partisans.  We  clergy  keep  our  hearts  warm 
and  our  heads  cool,  and  we  hold  a  judicious  middle  course." 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  object,  sir,  to  my  having  stated  in  public, 
emphatically,  that  he  will  reappear  here,  whenever  any  new  sus- 
picion may  be  awakened,  or  any  new  circumstance  may  come 
to  light  in  this  extraordinary  matter  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  returned  the  Dean.  "  And  yet.  do  you  know, 
I  don't  think,"  with  a  very  nice  and  neat  emphasis  on  those  two 
words,  "I  don't  think  I  would  state  it  emphatically.  State  it? 
Ye-e-es  !  But  emphatically  ?  No-0-0.  I  think  not.  In  point 
of  fact,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  keeping  our  hearts  warm  and  our  heads 
cool,  we  need  do  nothing  emphatically." 

So  Minor  Canon  Row  knew  Neville  Landless  no  more,  and 
he  went  whithersoever  he  would,  or  could,  with  a  blight  upon 
his  name  and  fame. 

It  was  not  until  then  that  John  Jasper  silently  resumed  his 
place  in  the  choir.  Haggard  and  red-eyed,  his  hopes  plainly 
had  deserted  him,  his  sanguine  mood  was  gone,  and  all  his 
worst  misgivings  had  come  back.  A  day  or  two  afterwards, 
while  unrobing,  he  took  his  Diary  from  a  pocket  cf  his  coat, 
turned  the  leaves,  and  with  an  impressive  look,  a  ad  without 
one  spoken  work,  handed  this  entry  to  Mr.  Crisparkle  to 
read  : 


\C6  THE  MYSTERY  OP  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  My  dear  boy  is  murdered.  The  discovery  of  the  watch 
and  shirt-pin  convinces  me  that  he  was  murdered  that  night, 
and  that  his  jewelry  was  taken  from  him  to  prevent  identifica- 
tion by  its  means.  All  the  delusive  hopes  I  had  founded  on  his 
separation  from  his  betrothed  wife,  1  give  to  the  winds.  They 
perish  before  this  fatal  discovery.  I  now  swear,  and  record  I  he 
oath  on  this  page,  That  I  nevermore  will  discuss  this  mystery 
with  any  human  creature,  until  L  hold  the  clew  to  it  in  my 
hand.  That  I  never  will  relax  in  my  secrecy  or  in  my  search. 
That  I  will  fasten  the  crime  of  the  murder  of  my  dear  dead  boy 
upon  the  murderer.  And  That  I  devote  myself  to  his  destruc- 
tion." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

Philanthropy,   Professional  and  Unprofessional. 

ULL  half  a  year  had  come  and  gone,  and  Mr.  Crispar- 
kle  sat  in  a  waiting-room  in  the  London  chief  offices 
of  the  Haven  of  Philanthropy,  until  he  could  have  au- 
dience of  Mr.  Honeytlumder. 
In  his  college-days  of  athletic  exercises,  Mr.  Crisparkle  had 
known  professors  of  the  Noble  Art  of  fisticuffs,  and  had  at- 
tended two  or  three  of  their  gloved  gatherings.  He  had  now 
an  opportunity  of  observing  that  as  to  the  phrenological  forma- 
tion of  the  backs  of  their  heads,  the  Professing  Philanthropists 
were  uncommonly  like  the  Pugilists.  In  the  development  of 
all  those  organs  which  constitute,  or  attend,  a  propensity  to 
"  pitch  into  "  your  fellow-creatures,  the  Philanthropists  were  re- 
markably favoured.  There  were  several  Professors  passing  in 
and  out,  with  exactly  the  aggressive  air  upon  them  of  being 
ready  for  a  turn-up  with  any  Novice  who  might  happen  to  be 
on  hand,  that  Mr.  Crisparkle  well  remembered  in  the  circles  of 
the  Fancy.  Perparations  were  in  progress  for  a  moral  little 
Mill  somewhere  on  the  rural  circuit,  and  other  Professors  were 
backing  this  or  that  Heavy-Weight  as  good  for  such  or  such 
speechmaking  hits,  so  very  much  after  the  manner  of  the  sport- 
ing publicans  that  the  intended  Resolutions  might  have  been 
Rounds.  In  an  official  manager  of  these  displays  much  cele- 
brated for  his  platform  tactics,  Mr.  Crisparkle  recognized  (in 
a  suit  of  black)  the  counterpait  of  a  deceased  benefactor  of  his 
species,  an  eminent  public  character,  once  known  to  Fame  as 


PHILANTHR  OP  V. 


167 


Frostry-faced  Fogo,  who  in  days  of  yore  superintended  the 
formation  of  the  magic  circle  with  the  ropes  and  stakes.  There 
were  only  three  conditions  of  resemblance  wanting  between 
these  Professors,  and  those  :  Firstly,  the  Philanthropists  were 
in  very  bad  training  :  much  too  fleshy,  and  presenting,  both  in 
face  and  figure,  a  superabundance  of  what  is  known  to  Pugilis- 
tic Experts  as  Suet  Pudding.  Secondly,  the  Philanthropists 
had  not  the  good  temper  of  the  Pugilists,  and  used  worse  lan- 
guage. Thirdly,  their  fighting  code  stood  in  great  need  of  re- 
vision, as  empowering  them  not  only  to  bore  their  man  to  the 
ropes,  but  to  bore  him  to  the  confines  of  distraction  ;  also  to 
hit  him  when  he  was  down,  hit  him  anywhere  and  anyhow,  kick 
him,  stamp  upon  him,  gouge  him,  and  maid  him  behind  Ids 
back  without  mercy.  In  these  last  particulars  the  Professors  of 
the  Noble  Art  were  much  nobler  than  the  Professors  of  Phi- 
lanthropy. 

i\!r.  Crisparkle  was  so  completely  lost  in  musing  on  these 
similarities  and  dissimilarities,  at  the  same  time  watching  the 
crowd  which  came  and  went  by,  always,  as  it  seemed,  on 
errands  of  antagonistically  snatching  something  from  somebody, 
and  never  giving  anything  to  anybody  :  that  his  name  was  called 
before  he  heard  it.  On  his  at  length  responding,  he  was  shown 
by  a  miserably  shabby  and  underpaid  stipendiary  Philanthropist 
(who  could  hardly  have  done  worse  if  he  had  taken  service  with 
a  declared  enemy  of  the  human  race)  to  Mr.  Honeythunder's 
room. 

"Sir,"  said  Mr.  Honeyihunder  in  his  tremendous  voice,  like 
a  schoolmaster  issuing  orders  to  a  boy  of  whom  he  had  a  bad 
opinion,  "  sit  down." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  seated  himself. 

Mr.  Honeythunder,  having  signed  the  remaining  few  score 
of  a  few  thousand  circulars,  calling  upon  a  corresponding  num- 
ber of  families  without  means  to  come  forward,  stump  up  in- 
stantly, and  be  Philanthropists,  or  go  to  the  Devil,  another 
shabby  stipendiary  Philanthropist  (highly  disinterested,  if  in 
earnest)  gathered  these  into  a  basket  and  walked  off  with  them. 

"Now,  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  said  Mr.  Honeythunder,  turning  his 
chair  half  round  towards  him  when  they  were  alone,  and  squar- 
ing his  arms  with  Ids  hands  on  Ids  knees,  and  his  brows  knitted 
as  if  he  added,  I  am  going  to  make  short  work  of  you, — "  now, 
Mr.  Crisparkle,  we  entertain  different  views,  you  anil  1,  sir,  of 
the  sanctity  of  human  life." 

"  Do  we?"   returned  the  Minor  Canon. 

"  We  do,  sir." 


1 68  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"Might  I  ask  you,"  said  the  Minor  Canon,  "what  are  your 
views  on  that  subject  ?  " 

"That  human  life  is  a  thing  to  be  held  sacred,  sir." 

"  Might  I  ask  you,"  pursued  the  Minor  Canon  as  before, 
"  what  you  suppose  to  be  my  views  on  that  subject?" 

"  By  George,  sir  !  "  returned  the  Philanthropist,  squaring  his 
arms  still  more,  as  he  frowned  on  Mr.  Crisparkle  :  "  they  are 
best  known  to  yourself." 

'•  Readily  admitted.  But  you  began  by  saying  that  we  took 
different  views,  you  know.  Therefore  (or  you  could  not  say  so) 
you  must  have  set  up  some  views  as  mine.  Pray,  what  views 
have  you  set  up  us  mine  ?  " 

"  Here  is  a  man — and  a  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Honeythun- 
der, as  if  that  made  the  matter  infinitely  worse,  and  he  could 
have  easily  borne  the  loss  of  an  old  one  :  "  swept  off  the  face 
of  the  earth  by  a  deed  of  violence.      What  do  you  call  that  ?  " 

"  Murder,"  said  the  Minor  Canon. 

"  What  do  you  call  the  doer  of  that  deed,  sir  ?  " 

"A  murderer,"  said  the  Minor  Canon. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  admit  so  much,  sir,"  retorted  Mr. 
Honeythunder,  in  his  most  offensive  manner  ;  "  and  I  candidly 
tell  you  that  I  didn't  expect  it."  Here  he  lowered  heavily  at 
Mr.  Crisparkle  again. 

"Be  so  good  as  to  explain  what  you  mean  by  those  very  un- 
justifiable expressions." 

"J  don't  sit  here,  sir,"  returned  the  Philanthropist,  raising 
his  voice  to  a  roar,  "  to  be  browbeaten." 

"  As  the  only  other  person  present,  no  one  can  possibly 
know  that  better  than  I  do,"  returned  the  Minor  Canon  very 
quietly.      "But  I  interrupt  your  explanation." 

"Murder!"  proceeded  Mr.  Honeythunder,  in  a  kind  of 
boisterous  revery,  with  his  platform  folding  of  his  arms,  and  his 
platform  nod  of  abhorrent  reflection  after  each  short  sentiment 
of  a  word.  "  Bloodshed  !  Abel  !  Cain  !  I  hold  no  terms  with 
Cain.  I  repudiate  with  a  shudder  the  red  hand  when  it  is  of- 
fered me." 

Instead  of  instantly  leaping  into  his  chair  and  cheering  him- 
self hoarse,  as  the  Brotherhood  in  public  meeting  assembled 
would  infallibly  have  done  on  this  cue,  Mr.  Crisparkle  merely 
reversed  the  quiet  crossing  of  his  legs,  and  said  mildly,  "  Don't 
let  me  interrupt  your  explanation— when  you  begin  it." 

"The  Commandments  say  no  murder.  NO  murder,  sir!" 
proceeded  Mr.   Honeythunder,   platformally  pausing   as  if  he 


PHILANTHR  OP  Y. 


169 


took  Mr.  Crisparkle  to  task  for  having  distinctly  asserted  that 
they  said,  You  may  do  a  little  murder  and  then  leave  off. 

"  And  they  also  say,  you  shall  bear  no  false  witness,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"  Enough  ! "  bellowed  Mr.  Honeythunder,  with  a  solemnity 
and  severity  that  would  have  brought  the  house  down  at  a 
meeting,  "E — e — nough  !  My  late  wards  being  now  of  age, 
and  I  being  released  from  a  trust  which  1  cannot  contemplate 
without  a  thrill  of  horror,  there  are  the  accounts  which  you 
have  undertaken  to  accept  on  their  behalf,  and  there  is  a  state- 
ment of  the  balance  which  you  have  undertaken  to  receive,  and 
which  you  cannot  receive  too  soon.  And  let  me  tell  you,  sir, 
I  wish,  that  as  a  man  and  a  Minor  Canon,  you  were  better  em- 
ployed," with  a  nod.  "  Better  employed,"  with  another  nod. 
"  Bet — ter  em — ployed  ! "  with  another  and  the  three  nods 
added  up. 

Mr.  Crisparkle  rose,  a  little  heated  in  the  face,  but  with  per- 
fect command  of  himself. 

"  Mr.  Honeythunder,"  he  said,  taking  up  the  papers  referred 
to,  "my  being  better  or  worse  employed  than  I  am  at  present 
is  a  matter  of  taste  and  opinion.  You  might  think  me  better 
employed  in  enrolling  myself  a  member  of  your  Society." 

"  Ay,  indeed,  sir  !  "  retorted  Mr.  Honeythunder,  shaking  his 
head  in  a  threatening  manner.  "It  would  have  been  better 
for  you  if  you  had  done  that  long  ago  !" 

"  I  think  otherwise." 

"  Or,"  said  Mr.  Honeythunder,  shaking  his  head  again,  "  I 
might  think  one  of  your  profession  better  employed  in  devoting 
himself  to  the  discovery  and  punishment  of  guilt  than  in  leaving 
t'.iat  duty  to  be  undertaken  by  a  layman." 

"  I  may  regard  my  profession  from  a  point  of  view  which 
teaches  me  that  its  first  duty  is  towards  those  who  are  in  ne- 
cessity and  tribulation,  who  are  desolate  and  oppressed,"  said 
Mr.  Crisparkle.  "  However,  as  I  have  quite  clearly  satisfied 
myself  that  it  is  no  part  of  my  profession  to  make  professions, 
I  say  no  more  of  that.  But  I  owe  it  to  Mr.  Neville,  and  to 
Mr.  Neville's  sister  (and  in  a  much  lower  degree  to  myself),  to 
say  to  you  that  I  k/ioiv  1  was  in  the  full  possession  and  under- 
standing of  Mr.  Neville's  mind  and  heart  at  the  time  of  this  oc- 
currence ;  and  that,  without  in  the  least  colouring  or  conceal- 
ing what  was  to  be  deplored  in  him  and  required  to  be  corrected, 
I  feel  certain  that  his  tale  is  true.  Feeling  that  certainty,  I 
befriend  him.  As  long  as  that  certainty  shall  last  I  will  be- 
friend him.     And  if  any  consideration  could  shake  me  in  this 


ijo 


THE   MYSTERY   OF   EDIVIN  DROOD. 


resolve,  I  should  be  so  ashamed  of  myself  for  my  meanness  that 
no  man's  good  opinion, — no,  nor  no  woman's, — so  gained, 
could  compensate  me  for  the  loss  of  my  own." 

Good  fellow  !  Manly  fellow  !  And  lie  was  so  modest,  too. 
There  was  no  more  self-assertion  in  the  Minor  Canon  than  in 
the  school-boy  who  had  stood  in  the  breezy  playing-fields  keep- 
ing a  wicket.  He  was  simply  and  stanchly  true  to  his  duty 
ahke  in  the  large  case  and  in  the  small.  So  all  true  souls  ever 
are.  So  every  true  soul  ever  was,  ever  is,  and  ever  will  be. 
There  is  nothing  little  to  the  really  great  in  spirit. 

"Then  who  do  you  make  out  did  the  deed?"  asked  Mr. 
Honeythunder,  turning  on  him  abruptly. 

"Heaven  forbid,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "that  in  my  desire  to 
clear  one  man  I  should  lightly  criminate  another  !  1  accuse 
no  one." 

"  Tcha  !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Honeythunder  with  great  disgust  ; 
for  this  was  by  no  means  the  principle  on  which  the  Philan- 
thropic Brotherhood  usually  proceeded.  "  And,  sir,  you  are 
not  a  disinterested  witness,  we  must  bear  in  mind." 

"  How  am  I  an  interested  one  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
smiling  innocently,  at  a  loss  to  imagine. 

"There  was  a  certain  stipend,  sir,  paid  to  you  for  your  pupil, 
which  may  have  warped  your  judgment  a  bit,"  said  Mr.  Honey- 
thunder,  coarsely. 

"Perhaps  I  expect  to  retain  it  still?"  Mi.  Crisparkle  re- 
turned, enlightened;  "do  you  mean  that  too?" 

"Well,  sir,"  returned  the  professional  Philanthropist,  getting 
up,  and  thrusting  his  hands  down  into  his  trousers'  pockets,  "  I 
don't  go  about  measuring  people  for  caps.  If  people  find  I 
have  any  about  me  that  fit  'em,  they  can  put  'em  on  and  wear 
'em,  if  they  like.     That's  their  lookout,  not  mine." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  eyed  him  with  a  just  indignation,  and  took 
him  to  task  thus  : 

"Mr.  Honeythunder,  I  hoped  when  I  came  in  here  that  I 
might  be  under  no  necessity  of  commenting  on  the  introduction 
of  platform  manners  or  platform  manoeuvres  among  the  decent 
forbearances  of  private  life.  But  you  have  given  me  such  a 
specimen  of  both,  that  I  should  be  a  fit  subject  for  both  if  I  re- 
mained silent-  respecting  them.     They  are  detestable." 

"They  don't  suit  you,  I  dare  say,  sir." 

"They  are,"  repeated  Mr.  Crisparkle,  without  noticing  the 
interruption,  "detestable.  They  violate  equally  the  justice 
that  should  belong  to  Christians,  and  the  restraints  that  should 
belong  to  gentlemen.     You  assume  a  great  crime  to  have  been 


PHILANTHR  OP  Y.  1 7 1 

committed  by  one  whom  I,  acquainted  with  the  attendant  cir- 
cumstances, and  having  numerous  reasons  on  my  side,  devoutly 
believe  to  be  innocent  of  it.  Because  I  differ  from  you  on  that 
vital  point,  what  is  your  platform  resource?  Instantly  to  turn 
upon  me,  charging  that  I  have  no  sense  of  the  enormity  of  the 
crime  itself,  but  am  its  aider  and  abettor  !  So,  another  time — 
taking  me  as  representing  your  opponent  in  other  cases — you 
set  up  a  platform  credulity  :  a  moved  and  seconded  and  car- 
ried unanimously  profession  of  faith  in  some  ridiculous  delusion 
or  mischievous  imposition.  I  decline  to  believe  it,  and  you  fall 
back  upon  your  platform  resource  of  proclaiming  that  I  believe 
nothing ;  that  because  I  will  not  bow  down  to  a  false  god  of 
your  making,  I  deny  the  true  God  !  Another  time,  you  make 
the  platform  discovery  that  War  is  a  calamity,  and  you  propose 
to  abolish  it  by  a  string  of  twisted  resolutions  tossed  into  the 
air  like  the  tail  of  a  kite.  I  do  not  admit  the  discovery  to  be 
yours  in  the  least,  and  I  have  not  a  grain  of  faith  in  your 
remedy.  Again,  your  platform  resource  of  representing  me  as 
revelling  in  the  horrors  of  a  battle-field  like  a  fiend  incarnate  ! 
Another  time,  in  another  of  your  vmdiscriminating  platform 
rushes,  you  would  punish  the  sober  for  the  drunken.  I  claim 
consideration  for  the  comfort,  convenience,  and  refreshment  of 
the  sober ;  and  you  presently  make  platform  proclamation  that 
I  have  a  depraved  desire  to  turn  Heaven's  creatures  into  swine 
and  wild  beasts  !  In  all  such  cases  your  movers,  and  your 
seconders,  and  your  supporters — your  regular  Professors  of  all 
degrees — run  amuck  like  so  many  mad  Malays  ;  habitually  at- 
tributing the  lowest  and  basest  motives  with  the  utmost  reck- 
lessness (let  me  call  your  attention  to  a  recent  instance  in  your- 
self for  which  you  should  blush),  and  quoting  figures  which  you 
know  to  be  as  wilfully  one-sided  as  a  statement  of  any  compli- 
cated account  that  should  be  all  Creditor  side  and  no  Debtor, 
01  all  Debtor  side  and  no  Creditor.  Therefore  it  is,  Air. 
Honeythunder,  that  I  consider  the  platform  a  sufficiently  bad 
example  and  a  sufficiently  bad  school,  even  in  public  life ;  but 
hold  that,  carried  into  private  life,  it  becomes  an  unendurable 
nuisance." 

"  These  are  strong  words,  sir!  "  exclaimed  the  Philanthropist. 
"I  hope  so,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle.  "  Good  morning." 
He  walked  out  of  the  Haven  at  a  great  rate,  but  soon  fell 
into  his  regular  brisk  pace,  and  soon  had  a  smile  upon  his  face 
as  he  went  along,  wondering  what  the  china  shepherdess  would 
have  said  if  she  had  seen  him  pounding  Mr.  Honeythunder  in 
the  late  little  lively  affair.     For  Mr.  Crisparkle  had  just  enough 


1/2 


THE   MYSTERY   OE  EDWIN  DROOD. 


of  harmless  variety  to  hope  that  he  had  hit  hard,  and  to  glow 
with  the  belief  that  he  had  trimmed  the  Philanthropic  jacket 
pretty  handsomely. 

He  took  himself  to  Staple  Inn,  but  not  to  P.  J.  T.  and  Mr. 
Grewgious.  Full  many  a  creaking  stair  he  climbed  before  he 
reached  some  attic  rooms  in  a  corner,  turned  the  latch  of  their 
unbolted  door,  and  stood  beside  the  table  of  Neville  Land- 
less. 

An  air  of  retreat  and  solitude  hung  about  the  rooms,  and 
about  their  inhabitant.  He  was  much  worn,  and  so  were  they. 
Their  sloping  ceilings,  cumbrous  rusty  locks  and  grates,  and 
heavy  wooden  bins  and  beams,  slowly  mouldering  withal,  had 
a4^isonou"5>look,  and  he  had  the  haggard  face  of  a  prisoner. 
Vet  the  sunlight  shone  in  at  the  ugly  garret  window  which  had 
a  penthouse  to  itself  thrust  out  among  the  tdes  ;  and  on  the 
cracked  and  smoke-blackened  parapet  beyond,  some  of  the  de- 
luded sparrows  of  the  place  rheum atically  hopped,  like  little 
feathered  csipples  who  had  left  their  crutches  in  their  nests  ; 
and  there  was  a  play  of  living  leaves  at  hand  that  changed  the 
air,  and  made  an  imperfect  sort  of  music  in  it  that  would  have 
been  melody  in  the  country. 

The  rooms  were  sparely  furnished,  but  with  good  store  of 
books.  Everything  expressed  the  abode  of  a  poor  student. 
That  Mr.  Crisparkle  had  been  either  chooser,  lender,  or  doner 
of  the  books,  or  that  he  combined  the  three  characters,  might 
have  been  easily  seen  in  the  friendly  beam  of  his  eyes  upon  them 
as  he  entered. 

"  How  goes  it,  Neville  ?" 

"  I  am  in  good  heart,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  and  working  away." 

"I  wish  your  eyes  were  not  quite  so  large  and  not  quite  so 
bright,"  said  the  Minor  Canon,  slowly  releasing  the  hand  he  had 
taken  in  his. 

"They  brighten  at  the  sight  of  you,"  returned  Neville.  "If 
you  were  to  fall  away  from  me,  they  would  soon  be  dull 
enough." 

"  Rally,  rally  !  "  urged  the  other,  in  a  stimulating  tone.  "  Fight 
for  it,  Neville!" 

"If  I  were  dying,  I  feel  as  if  a  word  from  you  would  rally 
me;  if  my  pulse  had  stopped,  I  feel  as  if  your  touch  would 
make  it  beat  again,"  said  Neville.  "  Put  I  have  rallied,  and  am 
doing  famously." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  turned  him  with  his  face  a  little  more  towards 
the  light. 

'•  I  want  to  see  a  ruddier  touch  here,  Neville,"  he  said,  indi- 


PHILANTHROPY 


173 


eating  his  own  healthy  cheek  by  way  of  pattern  ;  "  I  want  more 
snn  to  shine  upon  you." 

Neville  drooped  suddenly  as  he  replied  in  a  lowered  voice. 
"  I  -am  not  hardy  enough  for  that  yet.  I  may  become  so,  bat 
I  cannot  bear  it  yet.  If  you  had  gone  through  those  Cloister- 
ham  streets  as  I  did;  if  you  had  seen,  as  I  did,  those  averted 
eyes,  and  the  better  sort  of  people  silently  giving  me  too  much 
room  to  pass,  that  I  might  not  touch  them  or  come  near  them, 
you  wouldn't  think  it  quite  unreasonable  that  I  cannot  go  about 
in  the  daylight." 

"  My  poor  fellow  ! "  said  the  Minor  Canon,  in  a  tone  so 
purely  sympathetic  that  the  young  man  caught  his  hand  :  "  I 
never  said  it  was  unreasonable  ;  never  thought  so.  But  1  should 
like  you  to  do  it." 

"And  that  would  give  me  the  strongest  motive  to  do  it. 
But  I  cannot  yet.  I  cannot  persuade  myself  that  the  eyes  of 
even  the  stream  of  strangers  I  pass  in  this  vast  city  look  at  me 
without  suspicion.  I  feel  marked  and  tainted,  even  when  I  go 
out — as  I  do  only — at  night.  But  the  darkness  covers  me  then, 
and  I  take  courage  from  it." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  stood 
looking  down  at  him. 

"If  1  could  have  changed  my  name,"  said  Neville,  "  I  would 
have  done  so.  But  as  you  wisely  pointed  out  to  me,  I  can't 
do  that,  for  it  would  look  like  guilt.  If  I  could  have  gone  to 
some  distant  place,  I  might  have  found  relief  in  that,  but  the 
thing  is  not  to  be  thought  of,  for  the  same  reason.  Hiding  and 
escaping  would  be  the  construction  in  either  case.  It  seems  a 
little  hard  to  be  so  tied  to  a  stake,  and  innocent  ;  but  I  don't 
complain." 

"And  you  must  expect  no  miracle  to  help  you,  Neville,"  said 
Mr.  Crisparkle,  compassionately. 

"  No,  sir,  I  know  that.  The  ordinary  fulness  of  time  and  cir- 
cumstance is  all  1  have  to  trust  to." 

"It  will  right  you  at  last,  Neville." 

"  So  I  believe,  and  I  hope  I  may  live  to  know  it." 

But  perceiving  that  the  despondent  mood  into  which  he  was 
falling  cast  a  shadow  on  the  Minor  Canon,  and  (it  may  be) 
feeling  that  the  broad  hand  upon  his  shoulder  was  not  then 
quite  as  steady  as  its  own  natural  strength  had  rendered  it  when 
it  first  touched  him  just  now,  he  brightened  and  said, 

"  Excellent  circumstances  for  study  anyhow  !  and  you  know, 
Mr.  Crisparkle,  what  need  I  have  of  study  in  all  ways.  Not 
to  mention  that  you  have  advised  me  to  study  for  the  difficult 


174  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

profession  of  the  law,  specially,  and  that  of  course  I  am  guiding 
myself  by  the  advice  of  such  a  friend  and  helper.  Such  a  good 
friend  and  helper  !  " 

He  took  the  fortifying  hand  from  his  shoulder,  and  kissed  it. 
Mr.  Crisparkle  beamed  at  the  books,  but  not  so  brightly  as 
when  he  had  entered. 

"  I  gather  from  your  silence  on  the  subject  that  my  late  guar- 
dian is  adverse,  Mr.  Crisparkle  ?  " 

The  Minor  Canon  answered,  "Your  late  guardian  is  a — . 
a  most  unreasonable  person,  and  it  signifies  nothing  to  any 
reasonable  person  whether  he  is  adverse  or  perverse,  or  the  re- 
verse." 

"  Well  for  me  that  I  have  enough  with  economy  to  live 
upon,"  sighed  Neville,  half  wearily  and  half  cheerily,  "  while 
I  wait  to  be  learned  and  wait  to  be  righted  !  Else  I  might 
have  proved  the  proverb  that  while  the  grass  grows  the  steed 
starves  ! " 

He  opened  some  books  as  he  said  it,  and  was  soon  immersed 
in  their  interleaved  and  annotated  passages,  while  Mr.  Crispar- 
kle sat  beside  him,  expounding,  correcting,  and  advising.  The 
Minor  Canon's  cathedral  duties  made  these  visits  of  his  difficult 
to  accomplish,  and  only  to  be  compassed  at  intervals  of  many 
weeks.  But  they  were  as  serviceable  as  they  were  precious  to 
Neville  Landless. 

When  they  had  got  through  such  studies  as  they  had  in  hand, 
they  stood  leaning  on  the  window-sill,  and  looking  down  upon 
the  patch  of  garden.  "Next  week,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
"you  will  cease  to  be  alone,  and  will  have  a  devoted  compan- 
ion." 

"And  yet,"  returned  Neville,  "this  seems  an  uncongenial 
place  to  bring  my  sister  to  ! " 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  the  Minor  Canon.  "There  is  duty 
to  be  done  here ;  and  there  are  womanly  feeling,  sense,  and 
courage  wanted  here." 

"  I  meant,"  said  Neville,  "  that  the  surroundings  are  so  dull 
and  unwomanly,  and  that  Helena  can  have  no  suitable  friend  or 
society  here." 

"  You  have  only  to  remember,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "  that 
you  are  here  yourself,  and  that  she  has  to  draw  you  into  the 
sunlight." 

They  were  silent  for  a  little,  and  then  Mr.  Crisparkle  began 
anew : 

"  When  we  first  spoke  together,  Neville,  you  told  me  that 
your  sister  had  risen  out  of  the  disadvantages  of  your  past  lives 


PHI  LA  NT HR  OP  Y. 


175 


as  Siiperioi  to  you  as  the  tower  of  Cloisterham  Cathedral  is 
higher  than  the  chimneys  of  Minor  Canon  Corner.  Do  you  re- 
member that  ?  " 

"Right  well  !" 

"I  was  inclined  to  think  it  at  the  time  an  enthusiastic  flight. 
No  matter  what  I  think  it  now.  What  I  would  emphasize  is, 
that  under  the  head  of  Pride  your  sister  is  a  great  and  opportune 
example  to  you." 

"  Under  all  heads  that  are  included  in  the  composition  of  a 
fine  character,  she  is." 

"Say  so  ;  but  take  this  one.  Your  sister  has  learnt  how  to 
govern  what  is  proud  in  her  nature.  She  can  dominate  it  even 
when  it  is  wounded  through  her  sympathy  with  you.  No  doubt 
she  has  suffered  deeply  in  those  same  streets  where  you  suffered 
deeply.  No  doubt  her  life  is  darkened  by  the  cloud  that 
darkens  yours.  But  bending  her  pride  into  a  grand  composure 
that  is  not  haughty  or  aggressive,  but  is  sustained  confidence 
in  you  and  in  the  truth,  she  has  won  her  way  through  those 
streets  until  she  passes  along  them  as  high  in  the  general  re- 
spect as  any  one  who  treads  them.  Every  day  and  hour  of 
her  life  since  Edwin  Drood's  disappearance,  she  has  faced  ma- 
lignity and  folly — for  you— as  only  a  brave  nature  well  directed 
can.  So  it  will  be  with  her  to  the  end.  Another  and  weaker 
kind  of  pride  might  sink  broken-hearted,  but  never  such  a  pride 
as  hers:  which  knows  no  shrinking,  and  can  get  no  mastery 
over  her." 

The  pale  cheek  beside  him  flushed  under  the  comparison 
and  the  hint  implied  in  it.  "  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  imitate  her," 
said  Neville. 

"  Do  so,  and  be  a  truly  brave  man  as  she  is  a  truly  brave 
woman,"  answered  Mr.  Cnsparkle,  stoutly.  "It  is  growing 
dark.  Will  you  go  my  way  with  me,  when  it  is  quite  dark? 
Mind  !     It  is  not  I  who  wait  for  darkness." 

Neville  replied  that  he  would  accompany  him  directly.  But 
Mr.  Crisparkle  said  he  had  a  moment's  call  to  make  on  Mr. 
Grewgious  as  an  act  of  courtesy,  and  would  run  across  to  that 
gentleman's  chambers,  and  rejoin  Neville  on  his  own  doorstep 
if  he  would  come  down  there  to  meet  him. 

Mr.  Grewgious,  bolt  upright  as  usual,  sat  taking  his  wine  in 
the  dusk  at  his  open  window  ;  his  wineglass  and  decanter  on 
the  round  table  at  his  elbow  ;  himself  and  his  legs  on  the  win- 
dow-seat ;  only  one  hinge  in  his  whole  body,  like  a  bootjack. 

"How  do  you  do,  reverend  sir?"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  with 
abundant  offers  of  hospitality  which  were  as  cordially  declined 


176 


THE   MYSTERY  OE  EDWIN  DROOD. 


as  made.  "  And  how  is  your  charge  getting  on  over  the  way 
in  the  set  that  I  bad  the  pleasure  of  recommending  to  you 
as  vacant  and  eligible  ?  " 

Mr.  Crisp'arkle  replied  suitably. 

"I  am  glad  you  approve  of  them,"  said  Mr.Grewgious,  "be- 
cause I  entertain  a  sort  of  fancy  for  having  him  under  my  eye." 

As  Mr.  Grewgious  had  to  turn  his  eye  up  considerably, 
before  he  could  see  the  chambers,  the  phrase  was  to  be  taken 
figuratively  and  not  literally. 

"And  how  did  you  leave  Mr.  Jasper,  reverend  sir?"  said 
Mr.  Grewgious. 

Mr.  Crisparkle  had  left  him  pretty  well. 

"And  where  did  you  leave  Mr.  Jasper,  reverend  sir  ?  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  had  left  him  at  Cloisterham. 

"And  when  did  you  leave  Mr.  Jasper,  reverend  sir?" 

That  morning. 

"Umps!"  said  Mr.Grewgious.  "He  didn't  say  he  was 
coming,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Coming  where  ?  " 

"Anywhere,  for  instance  ?"  said  Mr.  Grewgious. 

"  No." 

"Because  here  he  is,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  who  had  asked 
all  these  questions  with  his  preoccupied  glance  directed  out  at 
window.      "  And  he  don't  look  agreeable  ;  does  he  ?  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  was  craning  towards  the  window,  when  Mr. 
Grewgious  added, 

"  If  you  will  kindly  step  round  here  behind  me  in  the  gloom 
of  the  room,  and  will  cast  your  eye  at  the  second-floor  landing 
window,  in  yonder  house,  L  think  you  will  hardly  fail  to  see  a 
slinking  individual  in  whom  I  recognize  our  local  friend." 

"You  are  right  !  "  cried  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"Umps!"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  Then  he  added,  turning 
his  face  so  abruptly  that  his  head  nearly  came  into  collision 
with  Mr.  Crisparkle's  :  "  What  should  you  say  that  our  local 
friend  was  up  to  ?  " 

The  last  passage  he  had  been  shown  in  the  Diary  returned  on 
Mr.  Crisparkle's  mind  with  the  force  of  a  strong  recoil,  and  he 
asked  Mr.  Grewgious  if  he  thought  it  possible  that  Neville 
was  to  be  harassed  by  the  keeping  of  a  witch  upon  him  ? 

"A  watch,"  repeated  Mr.  Grewgious,  musingly.      "Ay  !" 

"  Which  would  not  only  of  itself  haunt  and  torture  his  life," 
said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  warmly,  "  but  would  expose  him  to  the 
torment  of  a  perpetually  reviving  suspicion,  whatever  he  might 
do,  or  wherever  he  might  go  ?  " 


PHILANTHR  OP  Y. 


177 


"Ay  !"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  musingly  still.  "  Do  I  see  him 
waiting  for  you  ?  " 

"  No  doubt  you  do." 

"Then  would  yon  have  the  goodness  to  excuse  my  getting 
up  to  see  you  out,  and  to  go  out  to  join  him,  and  to  go  the  way 
that  you  were  going,  and  to  take  no  notice  of  our  local  friend  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  I  entertain  a  sort  of  fancy  for  having 
him  under  my  eye  to-night,  do  you  know  ?  " 

Mr.  Grisparkie,  with  a  significant  nod,  complied,  and,  rejoin- 
ing Neville,  went  away  with  him.     They  dined  together,   and  , 
parted  at  the  yet  unfinished  and  undeveloped  railway  station  :  ' 
Mr.  Crisparkle  to  get  home  ;  Neville  to  walk  the  streets,  cross 
the  bridges,  make  a  wide  round  of  the  city  in  the  friendly  dark- 
ness, and  tire  himself  out. 

It  was  midnight  when  he  returned  from  his  solitary  expedi- 
tion, and  climbed  his  staircase.  The  night  was  hot,  and  the 
windows  of  the  staircase  were  all  wide  open.  Coming  to  the 
top,  it  gave  him  a  passing  chill  of  surprise  (there  being  no 
rooms  but  his  up  there)  to  find  a  stranger  sitting  on  the  window- 
sill,  more  after  the  manner  of  a  venturesome  glazier  than  an 
amateur  ordinarily  careful  of  his  neck ;  in  fact,  so  much  more 
outside  the  window  than  inside,  as  to  suggest  the  thought  that 
he  must  have  come  up  by  the  waterspout  instead  of  the  stairs. 

The  stranger  said  nothing  until  Neville  put  his  key  in  his 
door;  then,  seeming  to  make  sure  of  his  identity  from  the 
action,  he  spoke. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  coming  from  the  window  with 
a  frank  and  smiling  air,  and  a  prepossessing  address ;  "  the 
beans." 

Neville  was  quite  at  a  loss. 

"  Runners,"  said  the  visitor.  "  Scarlet.  Next  door  at  the 
back." 

"  Oh  ! "  returned  Neville.  "  And  the  mignonette  and  wall- 
flower ?  " 

"  The  same,"  said  the  visitor. 

"  Pray  walk  in." 

"  Thank  you." 

Neville  lighted  his  candles  and  the  visitor  sat  down.  A 
handsome  gentleman,  with  a  young  face,  but  an  older  figure  in 
its  robustness  and  its  breadth  of  shoulder;  say  a  man  of  eight- 
and-twenty,  or  at  the  utmost  thirty ;  so  extremely  sunburnt 
that  the  contrast  between  his  brown  visage  and  the  white  fore- 
head shaded  out  of  doors  by  his  hat,  and  the  glimpses  of  white 
throat  below  the  neckerchief,  would  have  been  almost  ludicrous 


i;8 


THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


but  for  his  broad  temples,  bright  blue  eyes,  clustering  brown 
hair,  and  laughing  teeth. 

"  I  have  noticed,"  said  he  ;  " — my  name  is  Tartar." 

Neville  inclined  his  head. 

"  1  have  noticed  (excuse  me)  that  you  shut  yourself  up  a 
good  deal,  and  that  yon  seem  to  like  my  garden  aloft  here.  If 
you  would  like  a  little  more  of  it  I  could  throw  out  a  few  lines 
and  stays  between  my  windows  and  yours,  which  the  runners 
would  take  to  directly.  And  I  have  some  boxes,  both  of  mig- 
nonette and  wallflower,  that  I  could  shove  on  along  the  gutter 
(with  a  boat-hook  I  have  by  me)  to  your  windows,  and  draw 
back  again  when  they  wanted  watering  or  gardening,  and  shove 
on  again  when  they  were  shipshape,  so  that  they  would  cause 
you  no  trouble.  I  couldn't  take  this  liberty  without  asking 
your  permission,  so  I  venture  to  ask  it.  Tartar,  corresponding 
set,  next  door." 

"  You  are  very  kind." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  ought  to  apologize  for  looking  in  so  late. 
But  having  noticed  (excuse  me)  that  you  generally  walk  out  at 
night,  I  thought  I  should  inconvenience  you  least  by  awaiting 
your  return.  I  am  always  afraid  of  inconveniencing  busy  men, 
being  an  idle  man." 

"  I  should  not  have  thought  so  from  your  appearance." 

"No?  I  take  it  as  a  compliment.  In  fact,  I  was  bred  in 
the  Royal  Navy  and  was  First  Lieutenant  when  I  quitted  it. 
But  an  uncle,  disappointed  in  the  service,  leaving  me  his  prop- 
erty on  condition  that  I  left  the  Navy,  I  accepted  the  fortune 
and  resigned  my  commission." 

"  Lately,  I  presume  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  had  had  twelve  or  fifteen  years  of  knocking  about 
first.  I  came  here  some  nine  months  before  you  ;  I  had  had 
one  crop  before  you  came.  I  chose  this  place  because,  having 
served  last  in  a  little  Corvette,  1  knew  I  should  feel  more  at 
home  where  I  had  a  constant  opportunity  of  knocking  my 
head  against  the  ceiling.  Besides,  it  would  never  do  for  a  man 
who  had  been  aboard  ship  from  his  boyhood  to  turn  luxurious 
all  at  once.  Besides,  again  :  having  been  accustomed  to  a 
very  short  allowance  of  land  all  my  life,  I  thought  I'd  feci  my 
way  to  the  command  of  a  landed  estate  by  beginning  in  boxes." 

Whimsically  as  this  was  said,  there  was  a  touch  of  merry 
earnestness  in  it  that  made  it  doubly  whimsical. 

"However,"  said  the  Lieutenant,  "I  have  talked  quite 
enough  about  myself.  It  is  not  my  way  I  hope;  it  has  merely 
been  to  present  myself  to  you  naturally.     If  you  will  allow  me  to 


PHILANTHR  OP  Y. 


179 


take  the  liberty  I  have  described,  it  will  be  a  charity,  for  it  will 
give  me  something  more  to  do.  And  you  are  not  to  suppose 
that  it  will  entail  any  interruption  or  intrusion  on  you.  for  that  is 
far  from  my  intention." 

Neville  replied  that  he  was  greatly  obliged,  and  that  he 
thankfully  accepted  the  kind  proposal. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  take  your  windows  in  tow,"  said  the 
Lieutenant.  "  From  what  I  have  seen  of  you  when  I  have 
been  gardening  at  mine,  and  you  have  been  looking  on,  I  have 
thought  you  (excuse  me)  rather  too  studious  and  delicate  ! 
May  1  ask,  is  your  health  at  all  affected  ?  " 

41 1  have  undergone  some  mental  distress,"  said  Neville,  con- 
fused, "which  has  stood  in  the  stead  of  illness." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Mr.  Tartar. 

With  the  greatest  delicacy  he  shifted  his  ground  to  the  win- 
dows again,  and  asked  if  he  could  look  at  one  of  them.  On 
Neville's  opening  it,  he  immediately  sprang  out,  as  if  he  were 
going  aloft  with  a  whole  watch  in  an  emergency,  and  were  set- 
ting a  bright  example. 

'•  For  Heaven's  sake  !  "  cried  Neville,  "  don't  do  that !  where 
are  you  going,  Mr.  Tartar  ?     You'll  be  dashed  to  pieces  !  " 

"  All  well  !  "  said  the  Lieutenant,  coolly  looking  about  him 
on  the  housetop.  "  All  taut  and  trim  here.  Those  lines  and 
stays  shall  be  rigged  before  you  turn  out  in  the  morning.  May 
I  take  this  shortcut  home  and  say,  Good-night  ?" 

"  Mr.  Tartar  !  "  urged  Neville.  "Pray!  It  makes  me  giddy 
to  see  you  !  " 

But  Mr.  Tartar,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  and  the  deftness  of 
a  cat,  had  already  dipped  through  his  scuttle  of  scarlet  runners 
without  breaking  a  leaf,  and  "  gone  below." 

Mr.  Grewgious,  his  bedroom  window-blind  held  aside  with  his 
hand,  happened  at  that  moment  to  have  Neville's  chambers 
under  his  eye  for  the  last  time  that  night.  Fortunately  his  eye 
was  on  the  front  of  die  house  and  not  on  the  back,  or  this  re- 
markable appearance  and  disappearance  might  have  broken  his 
rest,  as  a  phenomenon.  But  Mr.  Grewgious  seeing  nothing 
there,  not  even  a  light  in  the  windows,  his  gaze  wandered  from  the 
windows  to  the  stars,  as  if  he  would  have  read  in  them  something 
that  was  hidden  from  him.  Many  of  us  would  if  we  could  ;  but 
none  of  us  so  much  as  know  our  letters  in  the  stars  yet, — or 
seem  likely  to  do  it  in  this  state  of  existence, — and  few  lan- 
guages can  be  read  until  their  alphabets  are  mastered. 


j  So  TUB.    MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 

A  Settler  in  Cloisterham. 

T  about  this  time  a  stranger  appeared  in  Cloisterham, 
a  white-haired  personage  with  black  eyebrows.  Being 
buttoned  up  in  a  tightish  blue  surtout,  with  a  but! 
waistcoat  and  gray  trousers,  he  had  something  of  a 
military  air  ;  but  he  announced  himself  at  the  Crozier  (the  or- 
thodox hotel,  where  he  put  up  with  a  portmanteau)  as  an  idle 
dog  who  lived  upon  his  means  ;  and  he  further  announced  that 
he  had  a  mind  to  take  a  lodging  in  the  picturesque  oid  city  for 
a  month  or  two,  with  a  view  of  settling  down  there  altogether. 
Both  announcements  were  made  in  the  coffee-room  of  the  Cro- 
zier, to  all  whom  it  might,  or  might  not,  concern,  by  the  stranger 
as  he  stood  with  his  back  to  the  empty  fireplace,  waiting  for  his 
fried  sole,  veal  cutlet,  and  pint  of  sherry.  And  the  waiter  (busi- 
ness being  chronically  slack  at  the  Crozier)  represented  all 
whom  it  might  or  might  not  concern,  and  absorbed  the  whole 
of  the  information.  ~^s 

This  gentleman's  white  head  was  usually  large,  and  his  shock 
of  white  hair  was  unusually  thick  and  ample.  "  I  suppose, 
waiter,"  he  said,  shaking  his  shock  of  hair,  as  a  Newfoundland 
dog  might  shake  his  before  sitting  down  to  dinner,  "  that  a  fair 
lodging  for  a  single  butter  might  be  found  in  these  parts,  eh  ?" 

The  waiter  had  no  doubt  of  it. 

"  Something  old,"  said  the  gentleman.  "  Take  my  hat 
down  for  a  moment  from  that  peg,  will  you  ?  No,  I  don't  want 
it  ;  look  into  it.      What  do  you  see  written  there  ?  " 

The  waiter  read,  "  Datchery." 

"Now  you  know  my  name,"  said  the  gentleman. — "Dick 
Datchery.  Hang  it  up  again.  I  was  saying  something  old  is 
what  1  should  prefer,  something  odd  and  out  of  the  way; 
something  venerable,  architectural,  and  inconvenient." 

"  We  have  a  good  choice  of  inconvenient  lodgings  in  the 
town,  sir,  1  think,"  replied  the  waiter,  with  modest  confidence 
in  it^;  resources  that  way;  "indeed,  I  have  no  doubt  that  we 
could  suit  you  that  far  however  particular  you  might  be.  But 
a  architectural  lodging  !  "  that  seemed  to  trouble  the  waiter's 
head,  and  he  shook  it. 

"Anything  Cathedraly  now,"  Mr.  Datchery  suggested. 

"-Mr.  Tope,"  said  the  waiter,  brightening,  as  he  rubbed  his 


A   SETTLER  TV  CLOISTERHAM.  zgi 

chin  with  his  hand,  "  would  be  the  likeliest  party  to  inform  in 
that  line." 

"Who  is  Mr.  Tope?"  inquired  Dick  Datchery. 

The  waiter  explained  that  he  was  the  Verger,  and  that  Mrs. 
Tope  had  indeed  once  upon  a  time  let  lodgings  herself, — or 
offered  to  let  them  ;  but  that  as  nobody  had  ever  taken  them, 
Mrs.  Tope's  window-bill,  long  a  Cloisterham  Institution,  had 
disappeared  ;  probably  had  tumbled  down  one  day,  and  never 
been  put  up  again. 

"I'll  call  on  Mrs.  Tope,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  "after  dinner." 

So  when  he  had  done  his  dinner,  he  was  duly  directed  to  the 
spot,  and  sallied  out  for  it.  But  the  Crozier  being  an  hotel  of 
most  retiring  disposition,  and  the  waiter's  directions  being  fatally 
precise,  he  soon  became  bewildered,  and  went  boggling  about 
and  about  the  Cathedral  Tower,  whenever  he  could  catch  a 
glimpse  of  it,  with  a  general  impression  on  his  mind  that  Mrs. 
Tope's  was  somewhere  very  near  it,  and  that,  like  the  children 
in  the  game  of  hot  boiled  beans  and  very  good  butter,  he  was 
warm  in  his  search  when  he  saw  the  Tower,  and  cold  when  he 
didn't  see  it. 

He  was  getting  very  cold  indeed  when  he  came  upon  a  frag- 
ment of  burial-ground  in  which  an  unhappy  sheep  was  gracing. 
Unhappy,  because  a  hideous  small  boy  was  stoning  it  through 
the  railings,  and  had  already  lamed  it  in  one  leg,  and  was  much 
excited  by  the  benevolent,  sportsman-like  purpose  of  breaking 
its  other  three  legs,  and  bringing  it  down. 

"'It  'im  ag'in  !"  cried  the  boy,  as  the  poor  creature  leaped, 
"  and  made  a  dint  in  his  wool  !  " 

"Let  him  be!"  said  Mr.  Datchery.  "Don't  you  see  you 
have  lamed  him  ?  " 

"  Yer  lie,"  returned  the  sportsman.  '"E  went  and  lamed 
'isself.  I  see  'im  do  it,  and  I  giv'  'im  a  shy  as  a  Widdy-waming 
to  'im  not  to  go  a  brusin'  'is  master's  mutton  any  more." 

"  Come  here." 

"  I  won't ;   I'll  come  when  yer  can  ketch  me." 

"  Stay  there  then,  and  show  me  which  is  Mr.  Tope's." 

"'0\v  can  I  stay  here  and  show  you  which  is  Topeseses, 
when  Topeseses  is  t'other  side  the  Kinfreederal,  and  over  the 
crossings,  and  round  ever  so  many  corners?  Stoo-pid  ! 
Ya-a-ha  !  " 

"  Show  me  where  it  is,  and  I'il  give  you  something." 

"  Come  on,  then  !  " 

This  brisk  dialogue  concluded,  the  boy  led  the  way,  and  by 


jg2  THE    MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

and    by  stopped   at  some   distance   from   an    arched   passage, 
| 

'<  Looki  •  yond  :r.     You  see  that  there  winder  and  door?" 

"That's  Top  :'s?" 

"  Ver  lie  ;  it  ain't.     That's  Jarsper's." 

"  Indeed?  "  said  Air.  Datchery,  with  a  second  look  of  some 
inter  :  it. 

••  Yes,  and  I  ain't  a-goin'  no  nearer  Tm,  I  tell  yer." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Cos    1  aint  a-going  to  be  lifted   off  my  legs   and  'ave  my 

.  bust  and  be  choked  ;  not  if  I  knows  it  and  not  by  Mm. 

till  I  set  a  jolly  good  flint  a  flyin'  at  the  back  'o  'is  jolly 

old  'ed  some  day  !     Now  look  t'other  side  the  harch ;  not  the 

side  where  Jarsper's  door  is  ;  t'other  side." 

"  I  see."* 

"A  little  way  in,  o'  that  side,  there's  a  low  door,  down  two 
steps.     That's  Topeseses  with  'is  name  on  a  hoval  plate." 

"  Good.  See  here,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  producing  a  shilling 
"  You  owe  me  half  of  this." 

"  Yer  lie  ;  I  don't  owe  yer  nothing  ;  I  never  seen  yer." 

"  I  tell  von  you  owe  me  half  of  this,  because  I  have  no  six- 
pence in  my  pocket.  So  the  next  time  you  meet  me  you  shall 
do  something  else  for  me,  to  pay  me." 

"  All  right,  give  us  'old." 

"  What  is  your  name,  and  where  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  Deputy.     Travellers'  Twopenny,  'cross  the  green." 

The  boy  instantly  darted  off  with  the  shilling,  lest  Mr. 
Datchery  should  repent,  but  stopped  at  a  safe  distance,  on  the 
happy  chance  of  his  being  uneasy  in  his  mind  about  it,  to  goad 
him  with  a  demon  dance  expressive  of  its  irrevocability. 

Mr.  Datchery  taking  off  his  hat  to  give  that  shock  of  white 
hair  of  his  another  shake,  seemed  quite  resigned,  and  betook 
himself  whither  he  had  been  directed. 

Mr.  Tope's  official  dwelling,  communicating  by  an  upper 
stair  with  Mr.  Jasper's  (hence  Mrs.  Tope's  attendance  on  that 
gentleman),  was  of  very  modest  proportions,  and  partook  of 
the  character  of  a  cool  dungeon.  Its  ancient  walls  were  mas- 
sive, and  its  rooms  rather  seemed  to  have  been  dug  out  of 
them  than  to  have  been  designed  beforehand  with  any  refer- 
ence to  them.  The  main  door  opened  at  once  on  a  chamber 
of  no  describable  .shape,  with  a  groined  roof,  which  in  its  turn 
opened  on  another  chamber  of  no  describable  shape  with 
another  groined  roof.  Their  windows  small  and  in  the  thick- 
ness of  the  walls,  these  two  chambers,  close  as  to  their  atmos- 


A  SETTLER  IN   CLOISTERHAM.  183 

phere  and  swarthy  as  to  their  illumination  by  natural  light,  were 
the  apartments  which  Mrs.  Tope  had  so  long  offered  to  an  tin- 
appreciative  city.  -Mr.  Datchery,  however,  was  more  appreci- 
ative. He  found  that  if  he  sat  with  the  main  door  open  he 
would  enjoy  the  passing  society  of  all  comers  to  and  fro  by  the 
gateway,  and  would  have  light  enough.  He  found  that  if  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Tope,  living  overhead,  used  for  their  own  egress  and 
ingress  a  little  side  stair  that  came  plump  into  the  Precincts  by 
a  door  opening  outward,  to  the  surprise  and  inconvenience  of 
a  limited  public  of  pedestrians  in  a  narrow  way,  he  would  be 
alone,  as  in  a  separate  residence.  He  found  the  rent  mod- 
erate, and  everything  as  quaintly  inconvenient  as  he  could  de- 
sire. He  agreed  therefore  to  take  the  lodging  then  and  there, 
and  money  down,  possession  to  be  had  next  evening  on  condi- 
tion that  reference  was  permitted  him  to  Mr.  Jasper  as  occu- 
pying the  Gate  House,  of  which,  on  the  other  side  of  the  gate- 
way, the  Verger's  hole  in  the  wall  was  appanage  or  subsidiary 
part. 

The  poor  clear  gentleman  was  very  solitary  and  very  sad, 
Mrs.  Tope  said,  but  she  had  no  doubt  he  would  "  speak  for 
her."  Perhaps  Mr.  Datchery  had  heard  something  of  what 
had  occurred  there  last  winter  ? 

Mr.  Datchery  had  as  confused  a  knowledge  of  the  event  in 
question,  on  trying  to  recall  it,  as  he  well  could  have.  He 
begged  Mrs.  Tope's  pardon  when  she  found  it  incumbent  on 
her  to  correct  him  in  every  detail  of  his  summary  of  the  facts, 
but  pleaded  that  he  was  merely  a  single  buffer  getting  through 
life  upon  his  means  as  idly  as  he  could,  and  that  so  many  peo- 
ple were  so  constantly  making  away  with  so  many  other  people, 
as  to  render  it  difficult  for  a  buffer  of  an  easy  temper  to  pre- 
serve the  circumstances  of  the  several  cases  unmixed  in  his 
mind. 

Mr.  Jasper  proving  willing  to  speak  for  Mrs.  Tope,  Mr. 
Datchery,  who  had  sent  up  his  card,  was  invited  to  ascend  the 
postern  staircase.  The  Mayor  was  there,  Mrs.  Tope  said;  but 
he  was  not  to  be  regarded  in  the  light  of  company,  as  he  and 
Mr.  Jasper  were  great  friends. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  making  a  leg  with  his 
hat  under  his  arm,  as  he  addressed  himself  equally  to  both  gen- 
tlemen ;  "  a  selfish  precaution  on  my  part  and  not  personally 
interesting  to  anybody  but  myself.  But'as  a  buffer  living  on 
his  means,  and  having  an  idea  of  doing  it  in  this  lovely  place 
in  peace  and  quiet,  for  remaining  span  of  life,  beg  to  ask  if  the 
Tope  family  are  quite  respectable  ?  " 


!34  the  mystery  OF  EDWIN  drood. 

Mr.  fasper  could  answer  for  that  without  the  slightest  hesita- 
tion. 

••  That's  enough,  sir,*1  said  Mr.  !  >atch 

'•  \lv  fri  :nd,  the  Mayor,"  added   Mr.  Jasper,  presenting  Mr. 

Datcherv  with  a  courtly  motion  of  his  hand  towards  that  poren- 

••  whose  recommendation  is  actually  much  more  important 

l.)  a  stranger  than   that  of  an   obscure  person  like  myself,  will 

testify  in  rheir  behalf,  I  am  sure." 

••The  Worshipful  the  Mayor,"  said  -Mr.  Datcherv  with  a  low 
bow,  "places  me  under  an  infinite  obligation." 

"  Very  good  people,  sir,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tope,"  said  Mr.  Sap- 
sea,  with  condescension.  "  Very  good  opinions.  Very  well 
behaved.  Very  respectful.  Much  approved  by  the  Dean  and 
Chapter." 

"The  Worshipful  the  Mayor  gives  them  a  character,"  said 
Mr.  Datchery,  "  of  which  they  may  indeed  be  proud.  1  would 
ask  his  Honour  (if  I  might  be  permitted)  whether  there  are  not 
many  objects  of  great  interest  in  the  city  which  is  under  his 
beneficent  sway  ?  " 

••  We  are,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Sapsea,  "  an  ancient  city,  and 
an  ecclesiastical  city.  We  are  a  constitutional  city,  as  it  be- 
comes such  a  city  to  be,  and  we  uphold  and  maintain  our  glorb 
ous  privileges." 

"  His  Honour,"  said  Mr.  Datchery  bowing,  "  inspires  me 
with  a  desire  to  know  more  of  the  city,  and  confirms  me  in  my 
inclination  to  end  my  days  in  the  city." 

"Retired  from  the  Army,  sir?"  suggested  Mr.  Sapsea. 

"  His  Honour  the  Mayor  does  me  too  much  credit,"  returned 
Mr.  Datchery. 

"Navy,  sir?"  suggested  Mr.  Sapsea. 

'■  Again,"  repeated  Mr.  Datchery,  "  His  Honour  the  Mayor 
does  me  too  much  credit." 

"  Diplomacy  is  a  tine  profession,"  said  Mr.  Sapsea,  as  a 
general  remark. 

"  There,  1  confess,  His  Honour  the  Mayor  is  too  many  for 
me,"  said,  Mr.  Datcherv,  with  an  ingenuous  smile  and  bow; 
'•  even  a  diplomatic  bird  must  fall  to  such  a  gun." 

Now,  this  was  very  soothing.  Here  was  a  gentleman  of  a 
great, — not  to  say  grand, — address,  accustomed  to  rank  and 
dignity,  really  setting  a  line  example  how  to  behave  to  a  Mayor. 
I'.i  re  was  something  in  that  third-person  style  of  being  spoken 
to,  that  Mr.  Sapsea'found  particularly  recognizant  of  his  merits 
and  position. 

"  But  I  crave  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Datchery.     "  His  Honour  the 


A  SETTLER  IX  CLOISTER HA. M.  tS5 

Mayor  will  bear  with  me,  moment  I  have  been  deluded 

into  occupying  his  time,  and  have  forgotten  the  hum' 
upon  my  own,  of  my  hotel,  the  Ci 

"Not  at" all,  -  Mr.  S     sea     "  I  am  returning  heme, 

and  if  you  would  like  to  I  f  our  Cathedral  in 

way,  I  shall  be  glad 

••  His  Honour  the  Mayor,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  "is  more 

kind  and  gracious.'' 

As  Mr.  Datchery,  when  he  had  made  his  acknowli 
to  Mr.  Jasper,  could  not  be  induced  to  go  out  of  the  room  be- 
fore the  Worshipful,   the  Worshipful  led  the  way  downs 
Mr.   Datchery  following  with   his   hat   under  his  arm,  and   his 
shock  of  white  hair  streaming  in  the  evening  bre 

••  Might  I  ask  His  Honour.'-  said  Mr.  Datchery.  "  whether 
that  gentleman  we  have  just  left  is  the  gendeman  of  whom  I 
have  heard  in  the  neighbourhood  as  being  much  afflicted  by  the 
loss  of  a  nephew,  and  concentrating  his  life  on  avenging  the 
loss?" 

"That  is  the  gentleman.     John  Jasper,  sir." 

"  Would  His  Honour  allow  me  to  inquire  whether  there  are 
strong  suspicions  of  any  one  ?  " 

••More  than  suspicions,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Sapsea.  '"all  but 
certainties," 

"  Only  think  now  !  "  cried  Mr.  Datchery. 

"But  proof,  sir,  proof,  must  be  built  up,  stone  by  stone," 
saicl  the  Mayor.  "  As  I  say.  the  end  crowns  the  work.  It  is 
not  enough  that  Justice  should  be  moraUy  certain  ;  she  must 
be  immorally  certain — legally,  that  is." 

;>His  Honour,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  "reminds  me  of  the  nat- 
ure of  the  law.     Immoral.      How  true  '." 

■•As  I  say,  sir,"  pompously  went  on  the  Mayor,  "the  arm  of 
the  law  is  a  strong  arm,  and  a  long  arm.  That  is  the  way  / 
put  it.  .  A  strong  arm  and  a  long  arm." 

"  How  forcible  ! — and  yet,  again,  how  true  !  "  murmured  Mr. 
Datchery. 

"  And  without  betraying  what  I  call  the  secrets  of  the  prison- 
house,"  said  Mr.  Sapsea  :  "  the  secrets  of  the  prison-house  is 
the  term  I  used  on  the  bench." 

"  And  what  other  terms' than  His  Honour's  would  express 
it!"  said  Mr.  Datchery. 

"Without,  I  say,  betraying  th  :m,  I  predict  to  you,  knowing 
the  iron  will  of  the  gentleman  we  have  just  left  (I  take  the  bold 
step  of  calling  it  iron,  on  account  of  its  strength),  that  in  this 
case  the  long  arm  will  reach,  and  the  strong  arm  will  strike. — ■ 


136  THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN-  DROOD. 

This  is  our  Cathedral,  sir.  The  best  judges  are  pleased  to 
admire  it,  and  the  best  among  our  townsmen  own  to  being  a 
little  vain  of  it." 

All  this  time  Mr.  Datchery  had  walked  with  his  hat  under 
his  arm,  and  his  white  hair  streaming.  He  had  an  odd  momen- 
tary appearance  upon  him  of  having  forgotten  his  hat,  when 
Mr.  Sapsea  now  touched  it ;  and  he  clapped  his  hand  up  to 
his  head  as  if  with  some  vague  expectation  of  finding  another 
hat  upon  it. 

"  Pray  be  covered,  sir,"  entreated  Mr.  Sapsea;  magnificently 
implying,  "  I  shall  not  mind  it,  I  assure  you." 

"His  Honour  is  very  good,  but  i  do  it  for  coolness,"  said 
Mr.  Datchery. 

Then  Mr.  Datchery  admired  the  Cathedral,  and  Mr.  Sapsea 
pointed  it  out  as  if  lie  himself  had  invented  and  built  it ;  there 
were  a  few  details  indeed  of  which  he  did  not  approve,  but 
those  he  glossed  over,  as  if  the  workmen  had  made  mistakes  in 
his  absence.  The  Cathedral  disposed  of,  he  led  the  way  by 
the  churchyard,  and  stopped  to  extol  the  beauty  of  the  evening 
— by  chance — in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Mrs.  Sapsea's 
epitaph. 

"And  by  the  bye,"  said  Mr.  Sapsea,  appearing  to  descend 
from  an  elevation  to  remember  it  all  of  a  sudden,  like  Apollo 
shooting  down  from  Olympus  to  pick  up  his  forgotten  lyre, 
"that  is  one  of  our  small  lions.  The  partiality  of  our  people 
has  made  it  so,  and  stiangers  have  been  seen  taking  a  copy  of 
it  now  and  then.  I  am  not  a  judge  of  it  myself,  for  it  is  a  little 
work  of  my  own.  But  it  was  troublesome  to  turn,  sir  ;  1  may 
say,  difficult  to  turn  with  elegance." 

Mr.  Datchery  became  so  ecstatic  over  Mr.  Sapsea's  compo- 
sition that,  in  spite  of  his  intention  to  end  his  days  in  Cloister- 
ham,  and  therefore  his  probably  having  in  reserve  many  oppor- 
tunities of  copying  it,  he  would  have  transcribed  it  into  his 
pocket-book  on  the  spot,  but  for  the  slouching  towards  them 
of  its  material  producer  and  perpetuator,  Durdles,  whom  Mr. 
Sapsea  hailed,  not  sorry  to  show  him  a  bright  example  of 
behaviour  to  superiors. 

"Ah,  Durdles!  This  is  the  mason,  sir;  one  of  our  Clois- 
terham  worthies ;  everybody  here  knows  Durdles.  Mr. 
Datchery,  Durdles  ;  a  gentleman  who  is  going  to  settle  here." 

"I  wouldn't  do  it  if  I  was  him,"  growled  Durdles.  "We're 
a  heavy  lot." 

"You  surely  don't  speak  for  yourself,  Mr.  Durdles,"  returned 
Mr.  Datchery,  "  any  mo:e  than  for  His  Honour." 


A  SETTLER   IN   CLOTSTERHAM.  ^7 

"Who's  His  Honour?"  demanded  Durdles. 

"  His  Honour  the  Mayor." 

"I  never  was  brought  afore  him,"  said  Durdles,  with  any- 
thing but  the  look  of  a  loyal  subject  of  the  mayoralty,  "and 
it'll  be  time  enough  for  me  to  Honour  him  when  I  am.  Until 
which,  and  when,  and  where  : 

"  '  Mister  Sapsea  is  his  name, 
England  is  his  nation, 
Cloisterham's  his  dwelling-place, 

Aukshneer's  his  occupation."' 

Here  Deputy  (preceded  by  a  Hying  oyster-shell)  appeared 
upon  the  scene,  and  requested  to  have  the  sum  of  threepence 
instantly  '-chucked"  to  him  by  Mr.  Durdles,  whom  he  had 
been  vainly  seeking  up  and  down,  as  lawful  wages  overdue. 
While  that  gentleman,  with  his  bundle  under  his  arm,  slowly 
found  and  counted  out  the  money,  Mr.  Sapsea  informed  the 
new  settler  of  Durdles's  habits,  pursuits,  abode,  and  reputation. 
"  I  suppose  a  curious  stranger  might  come  to  see  you,  and 
your  works,  Mr.  Durdles,  at  any  odd  time  ?  "  said  Mr.  Datchery 
upon  that. 

"Any  gentleman  is  welcome  to  come  and  see  me  any  even- 
ing if  lie  brings  liquor  for  two  with  him,"  returned  Durdles, 
widi  a  penny  between  his  teeth  and  certain  halfpence  in  his 
hands.  "  Or  if  he  likes  to  make  it  twice  two,  he'll  be  doubly 
welcome." 

"  I  shall  come. — Master  Duputy,  what  do  you  owe  me  ?  " 

"A  job." 

"Mind  you  pay  me  honestly  with  the  job  of  showing  me 
Mr.  Durdles's  house  when  I  want  to  go  there." 

Deputy,  with  a  piercing  broadside  of  whistle  through  the 
whole  gap  in  his  mouth,  as  a  receipt  in  full  for  all  arrears, 
vanished. 

The  Worshipful  and  the  Worshipper  then  passed  on  together 
until  they  parted,  with  many  ceremonies,  at  the  Worshipful's 
door ;  even  then,  the  Worshipper  carried  his  hat  under  his 
arm,  and  gave  his  streaming  white  hair  to  the  breeze. 

Said  Mr.  Datchery  to  himself  that  night,  as  he  looked  at  his 
white  hair  in  the  gas-lighted  looking-glass  over  the  coffee- 
room  chiirmey-piece  at  the  Crozier,  and  shook  it  out :  "  For  a 
single  buffer,  of  an  easy  temper,  living  idly  on  his  means,  I 
have  had  a  rather  busy  afternoon  !  " 


1 88  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  BROOD. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Shadow  on  (he  bund  hit. 


1 


,    3, 


i£e£ i^jrtfSgm.' 


GAIN  Miss  Twinkleton  has  delivered  her  valedictory 
address,  with  the  accompaniments  of  white  wine  and 
pound  cake,  and  again  the  young  ladies  have  departed 
to  their  several  homes.  Helena  Landless  has  left  the 
Nuns'  House  to  attend  her  brother's  fortunes,  and  pretty  Rosa 
is  alone. 

Cloisterham  is  so  bright  and  sunny  in  these  summer  days 
that  the  Cathedral  and  the  monastery-ruin  show  as  if  their 
strong  walls  were  transparent.  A  soft  glow  seems  to  shine 
from  within  them,  rather  than  upon  them  from  without,  such  is 
their  mellowness  as  they  look  forth  on  the  hot  corn-fields  and 
the  smoking  roads  that  distantly  wind  among  them.  The 
Cloisterham  gardens  blush  with  ripening  fruit.  Time  was  when 
travel  stained  pilgrims  rode  in  clattering  parties  ^Trough  the 
city's  welcome  shades ;  time  is  when  wayfarers,  leading  a 
gypsy  life  between  haymaking  time  and  harvest,  and  looking  as 
if  they  were  just  made  of  the  dust  of  the  earth,  so  very  dusty 
are  they,  lounge  about  on  cool  doorsteps,  trying  to  mend  their 
unmendable  shoes,  or  giving  them  to  the  citv  kennels  as  a 
hopeless  job,  and  seeking  others  in  the  bundles  that  they  carry, 
along  with  their  yet  unused -sickles swathed..  i_n  bands  of  straw. 
At  all  the  more~pub~TIc"  punrplr  there  is  much  cooling  of  bare 
feel,  together  with  much  bubbling  and  gurgling  of  drinking 
with  hand  to  spout  on  the  part  of  these  Bedouins  ;  the  Cloister- 
ham police  meanwhile  looking  askant  from  their  beats  with 
suspicion,  and  manifest  impatience  that  the  intruders  should 
depart  from  within  the  civic  bounds,  and  once  more  fry  them- 
selves on  the  simmering  high-roads. 

On  the  afternoon  of  such  a  day,  when  the  last  Cathedral 
service  is  done,  and  when  that  side  of  the  High  Street  on 
which  the  Nuns'  House  stands  is  in  grateful  shade,  save  where 
its  quaint  old  garden  opens  to  the  west  between  the  boughs  of 
trees,  a  servant  informs  Rosa,  to  her  terror,  that  Mr.  Jasper 
desires  to  see  her.    ■ 

If  he  had  chosen  his  time  for  finding  her  at  a  disadvantage, 
he  could  have  done  no  better.  Perhaps  he  has  chosen  it. 
Helena  Landless  is  gone,  Mrs.  Tisher  is  absent  on  leave,  Miss 


SHADOW  OX   THE  SUNDIAL.  ]  89 

* 
Twinkleton  (in  her  amateur  state  of  existence)  has  contributed 
herself  and  a  veal-pie  to  a  picnic. 

"  O,  why,  why,  why  did  you  say  I  was  at  home  !  "  cries  Rosa, 
helplessly. 

The  maid  replies  that  Mr.  Jasper  never  asked  the  question. 
That  he  said  he  knew  she  was  at  home,  and  begged  she  might 
be  told  that  he  asked  to  see  her. 

li  What  shall  I  do  ?  what  shall  I  do?"  thinks  Rosa,  clasping 
his  hands. 

Possessed  by  a  kind  of  desperation,  she  adds  in  the  next 
breath  that  she  will  come  to  Mr.  Jasper  in  the  garden.  She 
shudders  at  the  thought  of  being  shut  up  with  him  in  the 
house;  but  many  of  its  windows  command  the  garden,  and  she 
can  be  seen  as  well  as  heard  there,  and  can  shriek  in  the  free 
air  and  run  away.  Such  is  the  wild  idea  that  flutters  through 
her  mind. 

She  has  never  seen  him  since  the  fatal  night,  except  when 
she  was  questioned  before  the  Mayor,  and  then  he  was  present 
in  gloomy  watchfulness,  as  representing  his  lost  nephew  and 
burning  to  avenge  him.  She  hangs  her  garden-hat  on  her  arm, 
and  goes  out.  The  moment  she  sees  him  from  the_  porch, 
leaning  on  the  sundia^  the  old  horrnSTeTeliTTng  of  being  com- 
pelle!TT3y~+rhTrlis~serts  its  hold  upon  her.  She  feels  that  she 
would  even  then  go  back,  but  that  he  draws  her  feet  towards 
him.  She  cannot  resist,  and  sits  down,  with  her  head  bent, 
on  the  garden-seat  beside  the  sundial.  She  cannot  look  up  at 
him  for  abhorrence,  but  she  has  perceived  that  he  is  dressed  in 
deep  mourning.  So  is  she.  It  was  not  so  at  first ;  but  the 
lost  has  long  been  given  up,  and  mourned  for,  as  dead. 

He  would  begin  by  touching  her  hand.  She  feels  the  inten- 
tion, and  draws  her  hand  back.  His  eyes  are  then  fixed  upon 
her,  she  knows,  though  her  own  see  nothing  but  the  grass. 

"  1  have  been  waiting,"  he  begins,  "  for  some  time,  to  be 
summoned  back  to  my  duty  near  you." 

After  several  times  forming  her  lips,  which  she  knows  he  is 
closely  watching,  into  the  shape  @f  some  other  hesitating  reply, 
and  then  into  none,  she  answers,  "  Duty,  sir  ?" 

"  The  duty  of  teaching  you,  serving  you  as  your  faithful  music- 
master." 

"  I  have  left  off  that  study." 

"  Not  left  off,  I  think.  Discontinued.  I  was  told  by  your 
guardian  that  you  discontinued  it  under  the  shock  that  we  have 
all  felt  so  acutehy.     When  will  you  resume  ?  " 

"  Never,  sir." 


190 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


"  Never?  You  could  have  done  no  more  if  you  had  loved 
my  dear  boy." 

"  1  did  love  him  !  "  cries  Rosa,  with  a  flash  of  anger. 

'•  Yes  ;  but  not  quite — not  quite  in  the  right  way,  shall  I  say  ! 
Not  in  the  intended  and  expected  way.  Much  as  my  dear  boy 
was,  unhappily,  too  self-conscious  and  self-satisfied  (I'll  draw  no 
parallel  between  him  and  you  in  that  respect)  to  love  as  he 
should  have  loved,  or  as  anyone  in  his  place  would  have  loved  ; 
must  have  loved  !  " 

She  sits  in  the  same  still  attitude,  but  shrinking  a  little  more. 

"  Then,  to  be  told  that  you  discontinued  your  study  with  rue, 
was  to  be  politely  told  that  you  abandoned  it  altogether  ?  "  he 
suggested. 

"  Yes,"  savs  Rosa,  with  sudden  spirit.  "  The  politeness  was 
my  guardian's,  not  mine.  I  told  him  that  I  was  resolved  to 
leave  off,  and  that  I  was  determined  to  stand  by  my  resolu- 
tion." 

"  And  you  still  are  ?  " 

"  I  still  am,  sir.  And  I  beg  not  to  be  questioned  any  more 
about  it.  At  all  events,  I  will  not  answer  any  more ;  I  have 
that  in  my  power.'' 

She  is  so  conscious  of  his  looking  at  her  with  a  gloating  ad- 
miration of  the  touch  of  anger  on  her,  and  the  fire  and  animation 
it  brings  with  it,  that  even  as  her  spirit  rises,  it  falls  again,  and 
she  struggles  with  a  sense  of  shame,  affront,  and  fear,  much  as 
she  did  that  night  at  the  piano. 

"  I  will  not  question  you  any  more,  since  you  object  to  it  so 
much  ;    I  will  confess." 

T  do  not  wish  to  hear  you,  sir,"  cries  Rosa,  rising. 

This  time  he  does  touch  her  with  his  outstretched  hand.     In 
shrinking  from  it,  she  shrinks  into  her  seat  again. 
^'  We  must  sometimes  act  in  opposition  to  our  wishes,"  he 
tells  her  in  a  low  voice.     "You  must  do  so  now,  or  do  more 
harm  to  others  than  you  can  ever  set  right." 

What  harm?" 

"  Presently,  presently.  You  question  me,  you  see,  and 
surely  that's  not  fair  when  you  forbid  me  to  question  you. 
Nevertheless,  I  will  answer  the  question  presently.  Dearest 
Rosa  !     Charming  Rosa  !  " 

She  starts  up  again. 

This  time  he  does  not  touch  her.  But  his  face  looks  so 
wicked  and  menacing,  as  he  stands  leaning  against  the  sundial, 
— setting,  as  it  were,  his  black  mark  upon  the  very  face  of  day, 
— that  her  flight  is  arrested  by  horror  as  she  looks  at  him. 


SHAD 0 W  ON   THE   SUNDIAL. 


191 


"  I  do  not  forget  how  many  windows  command  a  view  of  us," 
he  says,  glancing  towards  them.  "  I  will  not  touch  you  again  ; 
I  will  come  no  nearer  to  you  than  I  am.  Sit  down,  and  there 
will  be  no  mighty  wonder  in  your  music-master's  leaning  idly 
against  a  pedestal  and  speaking  with  you,  remembering  all  that 
has  happened  and  our  shares  in  it.     Sit  down,  my  beloved." 

She  would  have  gone  once  more, — was  all  but  gone, — and 
once  ir*6re  his  face  darkly  threatening  what  would  follow  if  she 
went/has  stopped  her.  Looking  at  hi.n  with  the  expression  of 
the  instant  frozen  on  her  face,  she  sits  down  on  the  seat  again. 

"  Rosa,  even  when  my  dear  boy  was  affianced  to  you,  i  loved 
you  madly  ;  even  when  I  thought  his"  happiness  in  haying  you 
for  his  wife  was  certain,  I  loved  you  madly  ;  even  when  I  strove 
to  make  him  more  ardently  devoted  to  you,  1  loved  you  madly  ; 
even  when  he  gave  me  the  picture  of  your  lovely  face  so  care- 
lessly traduced  by  him,  which  1  feigned  to  hang  always  in  my 
sight  for  his  sake,  but  worshipped  in  torment  for  years,  I  loved 
you  madly.  In  the  distastful  work  of  the  day,  in  the  wakeful 
misery  of  the  night,  girded  by  sordid  realities,  or  wandering 
through  Paradises  and  Hells  of  visions  into  which  I  rushed, 
carrying  your  image  in  my  arms,  I  loved  you  madly." 

if  anything  could  make  his  words  more  hideous  to  her  than 
they  are  in  themselves,  it  would  be  the  contrast  between  the 
violence  of  his  look  and  delivery,  and  the  composure  of  his  as- 
sumed attitude. 

"I  endured  it  all  in  silence.  So  long  as  you  were  his,  or  so 
long  as  I  supposed  you  to  be  his,  I  hid  my  secret  loyally.  Did 
I  not  ?  " 

This  lie,  so  gross,  while  the  mere  words  in  which  it  is  told 
are  so  true,  is  more  than  Rosa  can  endure.  She  answers,  with 
kindling  indignation,  "You  were  as  false  throughout,  sir,  as 
you  are  now.  You  were  false  to  him,  daily  and  hourly.  You 
know  that  you  made  my  life  unhappy  by  your  pursuit  of  me. 
You  know  that  you  made  me  afraid  to  open  his  generous  eyes, 
and  that  you  forced  me,  for  his  own  trusting,  good,  good  sake,  to 
keep  the  truth  from  him,  that  you  were  a  bad,  bad  man  !" 

His  preservation  of  his  easy  attitude  rendering  his  working 
features  and  his  convulsive  hands  absolutely  diabolical,  he  re- 
turns, with  a  fierce  extreme  of  admiration  : 

"  How  beautiful  you  are  !  You  are  more  beautiful  in  anger 
than  in  repose.  1  don't  ask  you  for  your  love  ;  give  me  your- 
self and  your  hatred  ;  give  me  yourself  and  that  pretty  rage  ; 
give  me  yourself  and  that  enchanting  scorn  ;  it  will  be  enough 
for  me." 


\-)2 


THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


Impatient  tears  rise  to  the  eyes  of  the  trembling  little  beauty, 
and  her  face  flames  ;  but  as  she  again  rises  to  leave  him  in  in- 
dignation, and  seek  protection  within  die  house,  he  stretches 
out  his  hand  towards  the  porch,  as  though  he  invited  her  to 
enter  it. 

"  L  told  you,  you  rare  charmer,  you  sweet  witch,  that  you 
must  stay  and  hear  me,  or  do  more  harm  that  can  ever  be  un- 
done. You  asked  me  what  harm,  Stay,  and  I  will  tell  you. 
Go,  and  I  will  <\o  it  !  " 

Again  Rosa  quails  before  his  threatening  face,  though  innocent 
of  its  meaning,  and  she  remains.  Her  panting  breathing  comes 
and  goes  as  if  it  would  choke  her  ;  but  with  a  repressive  hand 
upon  her  bosom,  she  remains. 

"  I  have  made  my  confession  that  my  love  is  mad.  It  is  so 
mad  that,  had  the  ties  between  me  and  my  dear  lost  boy  been  one 
silken  thread  less  strong,  I  might  have  swept  even  him  from  your 
side  when  you  favoured  him." 

A  film  comes  over  the  eyes  she  raises  for  an  instant,  as  though 
he  had  turned  her  faint. 

4i  Even  him,"  he  repeats.  "  Yes,  even  him  !  Rosa,  you  see 
me  and  you  hear  me.  Judge  for  yourself  whether  any  other  ad- 
mirer shall  love  you  and  live,  whose  life  is  in  my  hand." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  " 

"I  mean  to  show  you  how  mad  my  love  is.  It  was  hawked 
through  the  late  inquiries  by  Mr.  Crisparkle  that  young  Land- 
less had  confessed  to  him  that  he  was  a  rival  of  my  lost  boy. 
That  is  an  inexpiable  offence  in  my  eyes.  The  same  Mr. 
Crisparkle  knows  under  my  hand  that  I  have  devoted  myself  to 
the  murderer's  discovery  and  destruction,  be  he  whom  he  might, 
and  that  I  determined  to  discuss  the  mystery  with  no  one  until 
I  should  hold  the  clew  in  which  to  entangle  the  murderer  as  in  a 
net.  I  have  since  worked  patiently  to  wind  and  wind  it  round 
him  ;    and  it  is  slowly  winding  as  I  speak." 

"Your  belief,  if  you  believe  in  the  criminality  of  Mr.  Land- 
less, is  not  Mr.  Crisparkle's  belief,  and  he  is  a  good  man," 
Ros  i  retorts. 

••  My  belief  is  my  own  ;  and  I  reserve  it,  worshipped  of  my 
soul  !  Circumstances  may  accumulate  so  strongly  even  against 
an  innocent  man,  that,  directed,  sharpened,  and  pointed,  they 
may  slay  him.  One  wanting  link  discovered  by  perseverance 
against  a  guilty  man  proves  his  guilt,  however  slight  its  evidence 
before,  and  he  dies.  Young  Landless  stands  in  deadly  peril 
either  way." 

"  If  you  really  suppose,"  Rosa  pleads  with  him,  turning  paler, 


SHADOW  ON   THE   SUNDIAL. 


193 


"  that  I  favour  Mr.  Landless,  or  that  Mr.  Landless  has  ever  in 
any  way  addressed  himself  to  me,  you  are  wrong." 

He  puts  that  from  him  with  a  slighting  action  of  his  hand  and 
a  curled  lip. 

'•  I  was  going  to  show  you  how  madly  I  love  you.  More 
madly  now  than  ever,  for  I  am  willing  to  renounce  the  second 
object  that  has  arisen  in  my  life  to  divide  it  with  you  ;  and  hence- 
forth to  have  no  object  in  existence  but  you  only.  Miss  Land- 
less has  become  your  bosom  friend.  You  care  for  her  peace  of 
mind  ?  " 

"  I  love  her  dearly." 

"  You  care  for  her  good, name  ?" 

"  I  have  said,  sir,  I  love  her  dearly." 

"  I  am  unconsciously,"  he  observes,  with  a  smile,  as  he  folds 
his  hands  upon  the  sundial  and  leans  his  chin  upon  them,  so 
that  his  talk  would  seem  from  the  windows  (faces  occasionally 
come  and  go  there)  to  be  of  the  airiest  and  playfullest, —  "  I 
am  unconsciously  giving  offence  by  questioning  again.  I  will 
simply  make  statements,  therefore,  and  not  put  questions.  You 
do  care  for  your  bosom  friend's  good  name,  and  you  do  care 
for  her  peace  of  mind.  Then  remove  the  shadow  of  the  gallows 
from  her,  dear  one  !  " 

"  You  dare  propose  to  me  to—  " 

"  Darling,  I  dare  propose  to  you.  Stop  there.  If  it  be  bad 
to  idolize  you,  I  am  the  worst  of  men  ;  if  it  be  good,  I  am  the 
best.  My  love  for  you  is  above  all  other  love,  and  my  truth  to 
you  is  above  all  other  truth.  Let  me  have  hope  and  favour, 
and  I  am  a  foresworn  man  for  your  sake." 

Rosa  puts  her  hands  to  her  temples,  and,  pushing  back  her 
hair,  looks  wildly  and  abhorrently  at  him,  as  though  she  were 
trying  to  piece  together  what  it  is  his  deep  purpose  to  present 
to  her  only  in  fragments. 

"  Reckon  up  nothing  at  this  moment,  angel,  but  the  sacrifices 
that  1  lay  at  those  dear  feet,  which  I  could  fall  down  among  the  c  *\ 
vilest  ashes  and  kiss,  and  put  npnn  my  head  as  a  poor  savage  l^xC 
might.     There  is  my  fidelity  to  my  dear  boy  after  death.  Tread 
upon  it !  " 

With  an  action  of  his  hands,  as  though  he  cast  down  some- 
thing precious. 

"  There  is  the  inexpiable  offence  against  my  adoration  of  you. 
Spurn  it  !  " 

With  a  similar  action. 

"  There  are  my  labours  in  the  cause  of  a  just  vengeance  for 
six  toiling  months.     Crush  them  ! " 
9 


194 


The  mystery  of  edwin  drood. 


With  another  repetition  of  the  action. 

"There  is  my  past  and  my  present  wasted  life.  There  is  the 
desolation  of  my  heart  and  my  soul.  There  is  my  peace  ;  there 
is  my  despair.  Stamp  them  into  the  dust,  so  that  yon  take  me, 
were  it  even  mortally  hating  me!" 

The  frightful  vehemence  of  the  man,  now  reaching  its  full 
height,  so  additionally  terrifies  her  as  to  break  the  spell  that  has 
held  her  to  the  spot.  She  swiftly  moves  towards  the  porch  ; 
but  in  an  instant  he  is  at  her  side,  and  speaking  in  her  ear. 

"  Rosa,  I  am  self-repressed  again.  I  am  walking  calmly  be- 
side you  to  the  house.  I  shall  wait  for  some  encouragement 
and  hope.  I  shall  not  strike  too  soon.  Give  me  a  sign  that 
you  attend  to  me." 

She  slightly  and  constrainedly  moves  her  hand. 

"  Not  a  word  of  this  to  any  one,  or  it  will  bring  down  the 
blow,  as  certainly  as  night  follows  day.  Another  sign  that  you 
attend  to  me." 

She  moves  her  hand  once  more. 

"  I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you.  If  you  were  to  cast  me  off 
now — -but  yon  will  not — you  would  never  be  rid  of  me.  No  one 
should  come  between  us.      I  would  pursue  you  to  the  death." 

The  handmaid  coming  out  to  open  the  gate  for  him,  he 
quietly  pulls  off  his  hat  as  a  parting  salute,  and  goes  away  with 
no  greater  show  of  agitation  than  is  visible  i:i  the  effigy  of  Mr. 
Sapsea's  father  opposite.  Rosa  faints  in  going  upstairs,  and  is 
carefully  carried  to  her  room,  and  laid  down  on  her  bed.  A 
thunder-storm  is  coming  on,  the  maids  say,  and  the  hot  and 
stifling  air  has  overset  the  pretty  dear  ;  no  wonder  ;  they  have 
felt  their  own  knees  all  of  a  tremble  all  day  long. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


A   Flight. 

j|OS  A  no  sooner  came  to  herself  than  the  whole  of  the  late 
interview  was  before  her.  It  even  seemed  as  if  it  had 
pursued  her  into  her  insensibility,  and  she  had.  not  had 
a  moment's  unconsciousness  of  it.  What  to  do,  she 
was  at  a  frightened  loss  to  know  :  the  only  one  clear  thought 
in  her  mind  was,  that  she  must  fly  from  this  terrible  man. 

But  where  could  she  take  refuge,  and  how  could  she  go-? 


A    FLIGHT. 


195 


She  had  never  breathed  her  dread  of  him  to  any  one  but  Helena. 
If  she  went  to  Helena,  and  told  her  what  had  passed,  that  very 
act  might  bring  clown  the  irreparable  mischief  that  he  threatened 
he  had  the  power,  and  that  she  knew  he  had  the  will,  to  do. 
The  more  fearful  he  appeared  to  her  excited  memory  and  im- 
agination, the  more  alarming  her  responsibility  appeared  :  see- 
ing that  a  slight  mistake  on  her  part,  either  in  action  or  delay, 
might  let  his  malevolence  loose  on  Helena's  brother. 

Rosa's  mind  throughout  the  last  six  months  had  been  stormily 
confused.  A  half-formed,  wholly  unexpressed  suspicion  tossed 
in  it,  now  heaving  itself  up,  and  now  sinking  into  the  deep  ; 
now  gaining  palpability,  and  now  losing  it.  His  self-absorption 
in  his  nephew  when  he  was  alive,  and  his  unceasing  pursuit  of 
the  inquiry  how  he  came  by  his  death,  if  he  were  dead,  were 
themes  so  rife  in  the  place,  that  no  one  appeared  able  to  sus- 
pect the  possibility  of  foul  play  at  his  hands.  She  had  asked 
herself  the  question,  "  Am  I  so  wicked  in  my  thoughts  as  to 
conceive  a  wickedness  that  others  cannot  imagine  ? "  Then 
she  had  considered,  Did  the  suspicion  come  of  her  previous  re- 
coiling from  him  before  the  fact.  And  if  so,  was  not  that  a 
proof  of  its  baselessness  ?  Then  she  had  reflected,  "  What  mo- 
tive could  he  have,  according  to  my  accusation?"  She  was 
ashamed  to  answer  in  her  mind,  "The  motive  of  gaining  me  /" 
And  covered  her  face,  as  if  the  lightest  shadow  of  the  idea  of 
founding  murder  011  such  an  idle  vanity  were  a  crime  almost  as 
great. 

She  ran  over  in  her  mind  again  all  that  he  had  said  by  the 
sundial  in  the  garden.  He  had  persisted  in  treating  the  disap- 
pearance as  murder,  consistently  with  his  whole  public  course 
since  the  finding  of  the  watch  and  shirt-pin.  If  he  were  afraid  of 
the  crime  beina:  traced  out,  would  he  not  rather  encourasre  the 
idea  of  a  voluntary  disappearance  ?  He  had  even  declared  that 
if  the  ties  between  him  and  his  nephew  had  been  less  strong,  he 
might  have  swept  '•  even  him  "  away  from  her  side.  Was  that 
like  his  having  really  done  so?  He  had  spoken  of  laying  his  six 
months'  labours  in  the  cause  of  a  just  vengeance  at  her  feet. 
Would  he  have  done  that,  with  that  violence  of  passion,  if  they 
were  a  pretence  ?  Would  he  have  ranged  them  with  his  desolate 
heart  and  soul,  his  wasted  life,  his  peace,  and  his  despair  ?  The 
very  first  sacrifice  that  he  represented  himself  as  making  for  her 
was  his  fidelity  to  his  dear  boy  after  death.  Surely  these  facts 
were  strong  against  a  fancy  that  scarcely  dared  to  hint  itself. 
And  yet  he  was  so  terrible  a  man  !  In  short,  the  poor  girl  (for 
what  could  she  know  of  the  criminal  intellect,  which  its  own 


ig6  THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

professed  students  perpetually  misread,  because  they  persist  in 
trying  to  reconcile  it  with  the  average  intellect  of  average  men, 
instead  of  identifying  it  as  a  horrible  wonder  apart),  could  get 
by  no  road  to  any  other  conclusion  than  that  he  was  a  terrible 
man,  and  must  be  lied  from. 

She  had  been  Helena's  stay  and  comfort  during  the  whole 
time.  She  had  constantly  assured  her  of  her  full  belief  in  her 
brothers  innocence,  and  of  her  sympathy  with  him  in  his  misery. 
But  she  hid  never  seen  him  since  the  disappearance,  nor  had 
Helena  ever  spoken  one  word  of  his  avowal  to  Mr.  Crisparkte 
in  regard  of  Rosa,  though  as  a  part  of  the  interest  of  the  case  it 
was  well  known  far  and  wide.  He  was  Helena's  unfortunate 
brother,  to  her,  and  nothing  more.  The  assurance  she  had 
given  her  odious  suitor  was  strictly  true,  though  it  would  have 
been  better  (she  considered  now)  if  she  could  have  restrained 
herself  from  so  giving  it.  Afraid  of  him  as  the  bright  and  del- 
icate little  creature  was,  her  spirit  swelled  at  the  thought  of  his 
knowing  it  from  her  own  lips. 

But  where  was  she  to  go  ?  Anywhere  beyond  his  reach,  was 
no  reply  to  the  question.  Somewhere  must  be  thought  of. 
She  determined  to  go  to  her  guardian,  and  to  go  immediately. 
The  feeling  she  had  imparted  to  Helena  on  the  night  of  their 
first  confidence  was  so  strong  upon  her — the  feeling  of  not  be- 
ing safe  from  him,  and  of  the  solid  walls  of  the  old  convent  be- 
ing powerless  to  keep  out  his  ghostly  following  of  her — that  no 
reasoning  of  her  own  could  calm  her  terrors.  The  fascination 
of  repulsion  had  been  upon  her  so  long,  and  now  culminated  so 
darkly,  that  she  felt  as  if  he  had  power  to  bind  her  by  a  spell. 
Glancing  out  at  window,  even  now,  as  she  rose  to  dress,  the 
sight  of  the  sundial  on  which  he  had  leaned  when  he  declared 
himself  turned  her  cold,  and  made  her  shrink  from  it,  as  though 
he  had  invested  it  with  some  awful  quality  from  his  own  nature. 

She  wrote  a  hurried  note  to  Miss  Twinkleton,  saying  that  she 
had  sudden  reason  for  wishing  to  see  her  guardian  promptly, 
and  had  gone  to  him  ;  also,  entreating  the  good  lady  not  to  be 
uneasy,  for  all  was  well  with  her.  She  hurried  a  few  quite  useless 
articles  into  a  very  little  bag,  left  the  note  in  a  conspicuous 
place,  and  went  out,  softly  closing  the  gate  after  her. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  been  even  in  Cloisterham 
Hifh  Street  alone.  But  knowing  all  its  ways  and  windings  very 
well,  she  hurried  straight  to  the  corner  from  which  the  omnibus 
departed.      It  was  at  that  very  moment  going  off. 

••  Stop  and  take  me,  if  you  please,  Joe.  I  am  obliged  to  go 
to  London." 


A    FLIGHT. 


197 


In  less  than  another  minute  she  was  on  her  road  to  the  rail- 
way, under  Joe's  protection.  Joe  waited  on  her  when  she 
got  there,  put  her  safely  into  the  railway  carriage,  and  handed 
in  the  very  little  bag  after  her,  as  though  it  were  some  enor- 
mous trunk,  hundredweights  heavy,  which  she  must  on  no  ac- 
count endeavour  to  lift. 

"  Can  you  go  round  when  you  get  back,  and  tell  Miss  Twin- 
leton  that  you  saw  me  safely  off,  Joe  ?  " 

"  It  shall  be  done,  Miss." 

"  With  my  love,  please,  Joe." 

"Yes,  Miss — and  I  wouldn't  mind  having  it  myself!"  But 
Joe  did  not  articulate  the  last  clause  ;  onlv  thought  it. 

Now  that  she  was  whirling  away  for  London  in  real  earnest, 
Rosa  was  at  leisure  to  resume  the  thoughts  which  her  personal 
hurry  had  checked.  The  indignant  thought  that  Ins  declaration  of 
love  soiled  her  ;  that  she  could  only  be  cleansed  from  the  stain  of 
its  impurity  by  appealing  to  the  honest  and  true  ;  supported  her 
for  a  time  against  her  fears,  and  confirmed  her  in  her  hasty  resolu- 
tion. But  as  the  evening  grew  darker  and  darker,  and  the  great 
city  impended  nearer  and  nearer,  the  doubts  usual  in  such  cases 
began  to  arise.  Whether  this  was  not  a  wild  proceeding  after 
all;  how  Mr.  Grewgious  might  regard  it;  whether  she  should 
find  him  at  the  journey's  end  ;  how  she  would  act  if  he  were  ab- 
sent ;  what  might  become  of  her,  alone,  in  a  place  so  strange 
and  crowded  ;  how  if  she  had  but  waited  and  taken  counsel 
first  ;  whether,  if  she  could  now  go  back,  she  would  not  do  it 
thankfully  :  a  multitude  of  such  uneasy  speculations  disturbed 
her  more  and  more  as  they  accumulated.  At  length  the  train 
came  into  London  over  the  housetops  ;  and  down  below  lay  the 
gritty  streets  with  their  yet  unneeded  lamps  aglow,  on  a  hot 
light  summer  night. 

"  Hiram  Grewgious,  Esquire,  Staple  Inn,  London."  This 
was  all  Rosa  knew  of  her  destination  ;  but  it  was  enough  to 
send  her  rattling  away  again  in  a  cab,  through  deserts  of  gritty 
streets,  where  many  people  crowded  at  the  corners  of  courts 
and  byways  to  get  some  air,  and  where  many  other  people 
walked  with  a  miserably  monotonous  noise  of  shuffling  feet  on 
hot  paving-stones,  and  where  all  the  people  and  all  their  sur- 
roundings were  so  gritty  and  so  shabby. 

There  was  music  playing  here  and  there,  but  it  did  not  en- 
liven the  case.  No  barrel-organ  mended  the  matter,  and  no  big 
drum  beat  dull  care  away.  Like  the  chapel  bells  that  were 
also  going  here  and  there,  they  only  seemed  to  evoke  echoes 
from  brick  surfaces,  and  dust  from  everything.     As  to  the  flat 


jqS  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

wind  instruments,  they  seemed  to  have  cracked  their  hearts  and 
souls  in  pining  for  the  country. 

Her  jingling  conveyance  stopped  at  last  at  a  fast-closed  gate- 
wax-  which  appeared  to  belong  to  somebody  who  had  gone  to 
bed  very  early,  and  was  much  afraid  of  house-breakers;  Rosa, 
discharging  her  conveyance,  timidly  knocked  at  this  gateway, 
and  was  lei  in,  very  little  bag  and  all,  by  a  watchman. 

"  Does  Mr.  Grewgious  live  here?" 

"  Mr.  Grewgious  lives  there,  Miss,"  said  the  watchman,  point- 
ing farther  in. 

So  Rosa  went  farther  in,  and,  when  the  clocks  were  striking 
ten,  stood  on  P.  J.  TVs  doorsteps,  wondering  what  P.  J.  T.  had 
done  with  his  street  door. 

Guided  by  the  painted  name  of  Mr.  Grewgious,  she  went  up- 
stairs and  softly  tapped  and  tapped  several  times.  But  no  one 
answering,  and  Mr.  Grewgious's  door-handle  yielding  to  her 
touch,  she  went  in,  and  saw  her  guardian  sitting  on  a  window- 
seat  at  an  open  window,  with  a  shaded  lamp  placed  far  from  him 
on  a  table  in  a  corner. 

Rosa  drew  nearer  to  him  in  the  twilight  of  the  room.  He 
saw  her,  and  he  said  in  an  undertone,  "  Good  Heaven  !" 

Rosa  fell  upon  his  neck,  with  tears,  and  then  he  said,  return- 
ing her  embrace, 

"My  child,  my  child  i   I  thought  you  were  your  mother  !  " 

"But  what,  what,  what,"  he  added,  soothing1}',  "has  hap- 
pened ?  My  dear,  what  has  brought  you  here  ?  Who  has 
brought  you  here  ?  " 

"  No  one.     I  came  alone." 

"Lord  bless  me!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Grewgious.  "Came 
alone!  Why  didn't  you  write  to  me  to  come  and  fetch 
you  ?  " 

"  I  had  no  time.  I  took  a  sudden  resolution.  Poor,  poor 
Eddy  !  " 

"  Ah,  poor  fellow,  poor  fellow  !  " 

"  His  uncle  has  made  love  to  me.  I  cannot  bear  it,"  said 
Rosa,  at  once  with  a  burst  of  tears,  and  a  stamp  of  her  little 
foot  ;  "  I  shudder  with  horror  of  him,  and  I  have  come  to  you 
to  protect  me  and  all  of  us  from  him,  if  you  will?" 

"  I  will  !"  aied  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  a  sudden  rush  of  amaz- 
ing energy.      "  Damn  him  ! 

"  Confound  his  politics, 

Frustrate  his  knavish  tricks  ! 
On  Thee  his  hopes  to  fix — 
Damn  him  a^ain  !  " 


A    FLIGHT. 


199 


After  this  most  extraordinary  outburst,  Mr.  Grewgious,  quite 
beside  himself,  plunged  about  the  room,  to  all  appearance  un- 
decided whether  he  was  in  a  fit  of  loyal  enthusiasm,  or  combat- 
ive denunciation. 

He  stopped  and  said,  wiping  his  face,  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
my  dear,  but  you  will  be  glad  to  know  I  feel  better.  Tell  me 
no  more  just  now,  or  I  might  do  it  again.  You  must  be  re- 
freshed and  cheered.  What  did  you  take  last  ?  Was  it  break- 
fast, lunch,  dinner,  tea,  or  supper  ?  And  what  will  you  take 
next?     Shall  it  be  breakfast,  lunch,  dinner,  tea,  or  supper?" 

The  respectful  tenderness  with  which,  on  one  knee  before 
her,  he  helped  her  to  remove  her  hat,  and  disentangle  her  pretty- 
hair  from  it,  was  quite  a  chivalrous  sight.  Yet  who,  knowing 
him  only  on  the  surface,  would  have  expected  chivalry — and 
of  the  true  sort,  too :  not  the  spurious — from  Air.  Grew- 
gious ? 

"  Your  rest  too  must  be  provided  for,"  he  went  on,  "  and  you 
shall  have  the  prettiest  chamber  in  Furnival's.  Your  toilet 
must  be  provided  for,  and  you  shall  have  everything  that  an  un- 
limited head-chambermaid  —  by  which  expression  I  mean  a  head- 
chambermaid  not  limited  as  to  outlay — can  procure.  Is  that  a 
bag?"  He  looked  hard  at  it  ;  sooth  to  say,  it  required  hard 
looking  at  to  be  seen  at  all  in  a  dimly  lighted  room  :  "  and  is  it 
your  property,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     I  brought  it  with  me." 

"It  is  not  an  extensive  bag,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  candidly, 
"  though  admirably  calculated  to  contain  a  day's  provisions  for 
a  canary-bird.     Perhaps  you  brought  a  canary-bird  ?  " 

Rosa  smiled,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  If  you  had  he  should  have  been  made  welcome,"  said  Mr. 
Grewgious,  "and  T  think  he  would  have  been  pleased  to  be 
hung  upon  a  nail  outside  and  pit  himself  against  our  Staple 
sparrows  ;  whose  execution  must  be  admitted  to  be  not  quite 
equal  to  their  intention.  Which  is  the  case  with  so  many  of 
us  !  You  didn't  say  what  meal,  my  dear.  Have  a  nice  jumble 
of  all  meals." 

Rosa  thanked  him,  but  said  she  could  only  take  a  cup  of 
tea.  Mr.  Grewgious,  after  several  times  running  out,  and  in 
again,  to  mention  such  supplementary  items  as  marmalade, 
eggs,  water-cresses,  salted  fish,  and  frizzled  ham,  ran  across 
to  Furnival's  without  his  hat,  to  give  his  various  directions. 
And  soon  afterwards  they  were  realized  in  practice,  and  the 
ooard  was  spread. 

"  Lord  bless  my  soul !  "   cried    Mr.    Grewgious,    putting  the 


200  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

lamp  upon  it,  and  taking  his  seat  opposite  Rosa,  "  what  a  new 
sensation  for  a  poor  old  Angular  bachelor,  to  be  sure  !  " 

Rosa's  expressive  little  eyebrows  asked  him  what  he  meant  ? 

"The  sensation  of  having  a  sweet  young  presence  in  the 
place  that  whitewashes  it,  paints  it,  papers  it,  decorates  it  with 
gilding,  and  makes  it  glorious,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "Ah  me  ! 
Ah  me  !  " 

As  there  was  something  mournful  in  his  sigh,  Rosa,  in  touch- 
ing him  with  his  teacup  ventured  to  touch  him  with  her  small 
hand  too. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  Ahem ! 
Let's  talk." 

"  Do  you  always  live  here,  sir  ?  "  asked  Rosa. 

"  Yes,  my  dear." 

"  And  always  alone  ?  " 

"Always  alone  ;  except  that  I  have  daily  company  in  a  gen 
tleman  by  the  name  of  Bazzard  ;  my  clerk." 

"  He  doesn't  live  here  ?  " 

"  No,  he  goes  his  ways  after  office  hours.  In  fact,  he  is  off 
duty  here,  altogether,  just  at  present  ;  and  a  Firm  downstairs, 
with  which  I  have  business  relations,  lend  me  a  substitute. 
But  it  would  be  extremely  difficult  to  replace  Mr.  Bazzard." 

"  He  must  be  very  fond  of  you,"  said  Rosa. 

"  He  bears  up  against  it  with  commendable  fortitude  if 
he  is,"  returned  Mr.  Grewgious,  after  considering  the  mat- 
ter. 

"But  I  doubt  if  he  is.  Not  particularly  so.  You  see,  he  is 
discontented,  poor  fellow." 

"  Why  isn't  he  contented  ?  "  was  the  natural  inquiry. 

"Misplaced,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  great  mystery. 

Rosa's  eyebrows  resumed  their  inquisitive  and  perplexed  ex- 
pression. 

"So  misplaced,"  Mr.  Grewgious  went  on,  "that  I  feel  con- 
stantly apologetic  towards  him.  And  he  feels  (though  he  doesn't 
mention  it)  that  I  have  reason  to  be." 

Mr.  Grewgious  had  by  this  time  grown  so  very  mysterious,  that 
Rosa  did  not  know  how  to  go  on.  While  she  was  thinking 
about  it,  Mr.  Grewgious  suddenly  jerked  out  of  himself  for  the 
second  time  : 

"Let's  talk.  We  were  speaking  of  Mr.  Bazzard.  It's  a 
secret,  and  moreover  it  is  Mr.  Bazzard' s  secret ;  but  the  sweet 
presence  at  my  table  makes  me  so  unusually  expansive,  that  I 
feel  I  must  impart  it  in  inviolable  confidence.  What  do  you 
think  Mr.  Bazzard  has  done  ?  " 


A    FLIGHT.  201 

"0  dear  !"  cried  Rosa,  drawing  her  chair  a  little  nearer, 
and  her  mind  reverting  to  Jasper,  "  nothing  dreadful,  I  hope?" 

"  He  has  written  a  play,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  in  a  solemn 
whisper.      "A  tragedy." 

Rosa  seemed  much  relieved. 

"And  nobody,"  pursued  Mr.  Grewgious,  in  the  same  tone, 
"will  hear,  on  any  account,  of  bringing  it  out." 

Rosa  looked  reflective,  and  nodded  her  head  slowly  ;  as  who 
should  say,  "Such  things  are,  and  why  are  they?  " 

"Now,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "/couldn't  write  a 
play." 

"  Not  a  bad  one,  sir  ?  "  asked  Rosa,  innocently,  with  her  eye- 
brows again  in  action. 

"  No.  If  I  was  under  sentence  of  decapitation,  and  was 
about  to  be  instantly  decapitated,  and  an  express  arrived  with 
a  pardon  for  the  condemned  convict  Grewgious  if  he  wrote  a 
play,  I  should  be  under  the  necessity  of  resuming  the  block 
and  begging  the  executioner  to  proceed  to  extremities, — mean- 
ing," said  Mr.  Grewgious,  passing  his  hand  under  his  chin, 
"  the  singular  number,  and  this  extremity." 

Rosa  appeared  to  consider  what  she  would  do  if  the  awkward 
supposititious  case  were  hers. 

"  Consequently,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  Mr.  Bazzard  would 
have  a  sense  of  my  inferiority  to  himself  under  any  circum- 
stances ;  but  when  1  am  his  master,  you  know,  the  case  is  greatly 
aggravated." 

Mr.  Grewgious  shook  his  head  seriously,  as  if  he  felt  the 
offence  to  be  a  little  too  much,  though  of  his  own  commit- 
ting. 

"  How  came  you  to  be  his  master,  sir  ?"  asked  Rosa. 

"  A  question  that  naturally  follows,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious. 
"Let's  talk.  Mr.  Bazzard's  father,  being  a  Norfolk  farmer, 
would  have  furiously  laid  about  him  with  a  flail,  a  pitchfork,  and 
every  agricultural  implement  available  for  assaulting  purposes, 
on  the  slightest  hint  of  his  son's  having  written  a  play.  So  the 
son,  bringing  to  me  the  father's  rent  (which  I  receive),  imparted 
his  secret,  and  pointed  out  that  he  was  determined  to  pursue 
his  genius,  and  that  it  would  put  him  in  peril  of  starvation,  and 
that  he  was  not  formed  for  it." 

"For  pursuing  his  genius,  sir?" 

"  No,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  for  starvation.  It 
was  impossible  to  deny  the  position  that  Mr.  Bazzard  was 
not  formed  to  be  starved,  and  Mr.  Bazzard  then  pointed  out 
that  it  was  desirable  that  I  should  stand   between  him  and  a 


202  THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DR00D. 

fate  so  perfectly  unsuited  to  his  formation.     In  that  way    Mr. 
Bazzard  became  my  clerk,  and  he  feels  it  very  much." 

"  I  am  glad  he  is  grateful."  said  Rosa. 

"  I  didn't  quite  mean  that,  my  dear.  I  mean  that  he  feels 
the  degradation.  There  are  some  other  geniuses  that  Mr.  Baz- 
zard has  become  acquainted  with,  who  have  also  written  trage- 
dies, which  likewise  nobody  will  on  any  account  whatever  heat 
of  bringing  out,  and  these  choice  spirits  dedicate  their  plays  tc 
one  another  in  a  highly  panegyrical  manner.  Mr.  Bazzard  has 
ivrn  the  subject  of  one  of  these  dedications.  Now,  you  know, 
/never  had  a  play  dedicated  to  me/" 

Rosa  looked  at  him  as  if  she  would  have  liked  him  to  be  the 
recipient  of  a  thousand  dedications. 

"  Which  again,  naturally,  rubs  against  the  grain  of  Mr.  Baz- 
zard," said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  He  is  very  short  with  me  some- 
times, and  then  I  feel  that  he  is  meditating,  '  This  blockhead  is 
my  master  !  A  fellow  who  couldn't  write  a  tragedy  on  pain  of 
death,  and  who  will  never  have  one  dedicated  to  him  with  the 
most  complimentary  congratulations  on  the  high  position  he 
has  taken  in  the  eyes  of  posterity  ! '  Very  trying,  very  trying. 
However,  in  giving  him  directions,  I  reflect  beforehand,  '  Perhaps 
he  may  not  like  this,'  or  '  He  might  take  it  ill  if  I  asked  that,' 
and  so  we  get  on  very  well.  Indeed,  better  than  I  could  have 
expected." 

"Is  the  tragedy  named,  sir?"  asked  Rosa. 

"  Strictly  between  ourselves,"  answered  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  it 
has  a  dreadfully  appropriate  name.  It  is  called  The  Thorn  of 
Anxiety.  But  Mr.  Buzzard  hopes — and  I  hope — that  it  will 
come  out  at  last." 

It  was  not  hard  to  divine  that  Mr.  Grewgious  had  related  the 
Bazzard  history  thus  fully,  at  least  quite  as  much  for  the  recrea- 
tion of  his  ward's  mind  from  the  subject  that  had  driven  her 
there,  as  for  the  gratification  of  his  own  tendency  to  be  social 
and  communicative.  "And  now,  my  dear,"  he  said  at  this 
point,  "  if  you  are  not  too  tired  to  tell  me  more  of  what 
passed  to-day,— but  only  if  you  feel  quite  able, — I  should  be 
glad  to  hear  it.  I  may  digest  it  the  better,  if  I  sleep  on  it  to- 
night." 

Rosa,  composed  now,  gave  him  a  faithful  account  of  the    in 
tervievv.     Mr.  Grewgious  often  smoothed  his  head  while  it  was 
in  progress,  and  begged  to  be  told   a    second  time  those  parts 
which  bore  on  Helena  and  Neville.     When  Rosa  had  finished, 
he  sat,  grave,  silent,  and  meditative,  for  a  while. 

"  Clearly  narrated,"    was   his  only  remark  at    last,  "  and,  1 


A    FLIGHT.  20, 

hope,  clearly  put  away  here,"  smoothing  his  head  again.  "  See, 
my  dear,"  taking  her  to  the  open  window,  "where  they  live  ! 
The  dark  shadows  over  yonder." 

'•  I  may  goto  Helena  to-morrow?"  asked  Rosa. 

M I  should  like  to  sleep  on  that  question  to-night,"  he  an- 
swered, doubtfully.  "  But  let  me  take  you  to  your  own  rest,  for 
you  must  need  it." 

With  that,  Mr.  Grewgious  helped  her  to  get  her  hat  on  again, 
and  hung  upon  his  arm  the  very  little  bag  that  was  of  no  earthly 
use,  and  led  her  by  the  hand  (with  a  certain  stately  awkward 
ness,  as  if  he  were  going  to  walk  a  minuet)  across  Holborn,  and 
into  Furnival's  Inn.  At  the  hotel  door,  he  confided  her  to  the 
Unlimited  head-chambermaid,  and  said  that  while  she  went  up 
^o  see  her  room,  he  would  remain  below,  in  case  she  should 
wish  it  exchanged  for  another,  or  should  find  that  there  was 
anything  she  wanted. 

Rosa's  room  was  airy,  clean,  comfortable,  almost  gay.  The 
Unlimited  had  laid  in  everything  omitted  from  the  very  little 
bag  (that  is  to  say,  everything  she  could  possibly  need),  and 
Rosa  tripped  down  the  great  many  stairs  again,  to  thank  her 
guardian  for  his  thoughtful  and  affectionate  care  o*~  her. 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  infinitely  grati- 
fied ;  "  it  is  I  who  thank  you  for  your  charming  confidence  and 
for  your  charming  company.  Your  breakfast  will  be  provided 
for  you  in  a  neat,  compact,  and  graceful  little  sitting-room  (ap- 
propriate to  your  figure),  and  I  will  come  to  you  at  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  I  hope  you  don't  feel  very  strange  indeed,  in 
this  strange  place." 

"  O  no,  I  feel  so  safe  !  " 

"Yes,  you  may  be  sure  that  the  stairs  are  fire-proof,"  said 
Mr.  Grewgious,  "  and  that  any  outbreak  of  the  devouring  ele- 
ment would  be  perceived  and  suppressed  by  the  watchmen." 

"I  did  not  mean  that,"  Rosa  repl  ed.  "I  mean,  I  feel  so 
safe  from  him," 

"There  is  a  stout  gate  of  iron  bars  to  keep  him  out,"  said 
Mr.  Grewgious,  smiling,  "and  Furnival's  is  fireproof  and 
specially  watched  and  lighted,  and  /  live  over  the  way!"  In 
the  stoutness  of  his  night-errantry,  he  seemed  to  think  the  last- 
named  protection  all-sufficient.  In  the  same  spirit,  he  said  to 
the  gate-porter  as  he  went  out,  "  If  some  one  staying  in  the 
hotel  should  wish  to  send  across  the  road  to  me  in  the  night,  a 
crown  will  be  ready  for  the  messenger."  In  the  same  spirit,  he 
walked  up  and  down  outside  the  iron  gate  for  the  best  part  of 
an  hour,  with  some  solicitude  ;  occasionally  looking  in  between 


204 


THE   MYSTERY   0E  EDWIN   DR00D. 


thebaic,  as  if  he  had  laid  a  dove  in  a  high  roost  in  a  cage  o\ 
lions,  and  had  it  on  his  mind  that  she  might  tumble  out. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

A   Recognition. 


OTHING  occurred   in   the   night   to  flutter  the  tired 

dove,  and  the  dove  arose  refreshed.     With  Mr.  Grew- 

gious  when  the  clock  struck  ten' in  the  morning,  came 

Mr.  Crisparkle,  who  had  come  at  one  plunge  out  of 

the  river  at  Cloisterham. 

"  Miss  Twinkleton  was  so  uneasy,  Miss  Rosa,"  he  explained 
to  her,  "  and  came  round  to  Ma  and  me  with  your  note,  in 
such  a  state  of  wonder,  that,  to  quiet  her,  I  volunteered  on  this 
service  by  the  very  first  train  to  be  caught  in  the  morning.  I 
wished  at  the  time  that  you  had  come  to  me  ;  but  now  I  think 
it  best  that  you  did  as  you  did,  and  came  to  your  giiurdian." 

"I  did  think  of  you,"  Rosa  told  him  ;  "but  Minor  Canon 
Corner  was  so  near  him — " 

'•I  understand.      It  was  quite  natural." 

"I  have  told  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "all  that 
you  told  me  last  night,  my  dear.  Of  course  I  should -have 
written  it  to  him  immediately  ;  but  his  coming  was  most  oppor- 
tune. And  it  was  particularly  kind  of  him  to  come,  for  he  had 
but  just  gone." 

"  Have  you  settled,"  asked  Rosa,  appealing  to  them  both, 
"  what  is  to  be  done  for  Helena  and  her  brother  ?  " 

"Why  really,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "I  am  in  great  perplex- 
ity. If  even  Mr.  Grewgious,  whose  head  is  much  longer  than 
mine,  and  who  is  a  whole  night's  cogitation  in  advance  of  me, 
is  undecided,  what  must  I  be  !  " 

The  Unlimited  here  put  her  head  in  at  the  door, — after  hav- 
ing rapped,  and  been  authorized  to  present  herself, — announc- 
ing that  a  gentleman  wished  for  a  word  with  another  gentleman 
named  Crisparkle,  if  any  such  gentleman  were  there.  If  no 
such  gentleman  were  there,  he  begged  pardon  for  being  mis- 
taken. 

"Such  a  gentleman  is  here,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "but  is 
engaged  just  now." 


A    RECOGNITION. 


205 


"Is  it  a  daik  gentleman?"  interposed  Rosa,  retreating  on 
her  guardian. 

"No,  Miss,  more  of  a  brown  gentleman." 

'•You  are  sure  not  with  black  hair?"  asked  Rosa,  taking 
courage. 

"  Quite  sure  of  that,  Miss.     Brown  hair  and  blue  eyes." 

"  Perhaps,"  hinted  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  habitual  caution,  "  it 
might  be  well  to  see  him,  reverend  sir,  if  you  don't  object. 
When  one  is  in  a  difficulty  or  at  a  loss,  one  never  knows  in 
what  direction  a  way  out  may  chance  to  open.  It  is  a  business 
principle  of  mine,  in  such  a  case,  not  to  close  up  any  direction, 
but  to  keep  an  eye  on  every  direction  that  may  present  itself. 
I  could  relate  an  anecdote  in  point,  but  that  it  would  be  prem- 
ature." 

"  H  Miss  Rosa  will  allow  me,  then  ?  Let  the  gentleman  come 
in,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle, 

The  gentleman  came  in  ;  apologized,  with  a  frank  but  modest 
grace,  for  not  finding  Mr.  Crisparkle  alone  ;  turned  to  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  and  smilingly  asked  the  unexpected  question,  "  Who 
am  1  ?  " 

"  You  are  the  gentleman  I  saw  smoking  under  the  trees  in 
Staple  Inn  a  few  minutes  ago." 

"  True.     There  I  saw  you.     Who  else  am  I  ?  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  concentrated  his  attention  on  a  handsome 
face,  much  sunburnt  ;  and  the  ghost  of  some  departed  boy 
seemed  to  rise  gradually  and  dimly  in  the  room. 

The  gentleman  saw  a  struggling  recollection  lighten  up  the 
Minor  Canon's  features,  and,  smiling  again,  said,  "What  will 
you  have  for  breakfast  this  morning  ?     You  are  out  of  jam." 

ft  Wait  a  moment  !  "  cried  Mr.  Crisparkle,  raising  his  right 
hand.     "  Give  me  another  instant !     Tartar  !  " 

The  two  shook  hands  with  the  greatest  heartiness,  and  then 
went  the  wonderful  length — for  Englishmen — of  laying  their 
hands,  each  on  the  others  shoulders,  and  looking  joyfully  each 
into  the  other's  face. 

"My  old  fag  !"   said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"  My  old  master  !  "  said  Mr.  Tartar. 

"  You  saved  me  from  drowning  !  "   said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"After  which  you  took  to  swimming,  you  know  !  "  said  Mr. 
Tartar. 

"  God  bless  my  soul  !  "   said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"  Amen  !  "   said  Mr.  Tartar. 

And  then  they  fell  to  shaking  hands  most  heartily  again. 

"  Imagine,"  exclaimed   Mr.  Crisparkle,  with  glistening  eyes 


2o5  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

— "Miss  Rosa  Bud  and  Mr.  Grewgious,  imagine  Mr.  Tartar, 
when  lie  was  the  smallest  of  juniors,  diving  for  me,  catching 
me,  a  hi  ;  heavy  seni  >r,  by  the  hair  of  the  head,  and  striking 
out.  for  tin-'  shore  with  me  like  a  water-giant  !  " 

'•Imagine  my  not  letting  him  sink,  as  I  was  his  fag!"  said 
Mr.  Tartar.  "But  the  truth  being  that  he  was  my  best  pro- 
tector and  friend,  and  did  me  more  good  than  all  the  masters 
put  together,  an  irrational  impulse  seized  me  to  pick  him  up  or 
go  down  with  him." 

"  Hem  !  Permit  me,  sir,  to  have  the  honour,"  said  Mr.  Grew- 
gious, announced  with  extended  hand,  "  for  an  honour  I  truly 
esteem  it.  1  am  proud  to  make  your  acquaintance.  I  hope 
you  didn't  take  cold.  1  hope  you  were  not  inconvenienced 
by  swallowing  too  much  water.      How  have  you  been  since  ?  " 

It  was  by  no  means  apparent  that  Mr.  Grewgious  knew  what 
he  said,  though  it  was  very  apparent  that  he  meant  to  say 
something  highly  friendly  and  appreciative. 

If  Heaven,  Rosa  thought,  had  but  sent  such  courage  and  skill 
to  her  poor  mother's  aid  !  And  he  to  have  been  so  slight  and 
young  then  ! 

"I  don't  wish  to  be  complimented  upon  it,  I  thank  you,  but 
I  think  I  have  an  idea,"  Mr.  Grewgious  announced,  after  tak- 
ing a  jog  trot  or  two  across  the  room,  so  unexpected  and  unac- 
countable that  they  had  all  stared  at  him,  doubtful  whether  he 
was  choking  or  had  the  cramp.  "  I  think  I  have  an  idea.  I 
believe  1  have  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Mr.  Tartar's  name  as 
tenant  of  the  top  set  in  the  house  next  the  top  set  in  the  cor- 
ner? " 

"Yes,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Tartar.      "You  are  right  so  far." 

"I  am  right  so  far,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "Tick  that  off," 
which  he  did,  with  his  right  thumb  on  his  left.  "  Might  you 
happen  to  know  the  name  of  your  neighbour  in  the  top  set  on 
the  other  side  of  the  party-wall?"  coming  very  close  to  Mr. 
Tartar,  to  lose  nothing  of  his  face,  in  his  shortness  of  sight. 

"  Landless." 

"Tick  that  off,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  taking  another  trot  and 
then  coming  back.      "  No  personal  knowledge,  I  suppose,  sir  ?" 

"  Slight,  but  some." 

"Tick  that  off,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  taking  another  trot  and 
again  coming  back.     "Nature  of  knowledge,  Mr.  Tartar?" 

"  I  thought  he  seemed  to  be  a  young  fellow  in  a  poor  way, 
and  I  asked  his  leave—only  within  a  day  or  so — to  share  my 
flowers  up  there  with  him  ;  that  is  to  say,  to  extend  my  flower- 
garden  to  his  windows." 


A    RECOGNITION. 


207 


"  Would  you  have  the  kindness  to  take  seats  ? "  said  Mr. 
Grewgious.      "  I  have  an  idea." 

They  complied  ;  Mr.  Tartar  more  the  less  readily  for  being 
all  abroad  ;  and  Mr.  Grewgious,  seated  in  the  centre,  with  his 
hands  upon  his  knees,  thus  stated  his  idea  with  his  usual  man- 
ner of  having  got  the  statement  njy  heart. 

"  1  cannot  as  yet  make  up  my  mind  whether  it  is  prudent  to 
hold  open  communication  under  present  circumstances,  and  on 
the  part  of  the  fair  member  of  the  present  company,  with  Mr. 
Neville  or  Miss  Helena.  I  have  reason  to  know  that  a  local 
friend  of  ours  (on  whom  I  beg  to  bestow  a  passing  but  a  hearty 
malediction,  with  the  kind  permission  of  my  reverend  friend) 
sneaks  to  and  fro,  and  dodges  up  and  down.  When  not  doing 
so  himself,  he  may  have  some  informant  skulking  about,  in  the 
person  of  a  watchman,  porter,  or  such-like  hanger-on  of  Staple. 
On  the  other  hand,  Miss  Rosa  very  naturally  wishes  to  see  tier 
friend  Miss  Helena,  and  it  would  seem  important  that  at  least 
Miss  Helena  (if  not  her  brother  too,  through  her)  should  pri- 
vately know  from  Miss  Rosa's  lips  what  has  occurred  and  what 
has  been  threatened.  Am  I  agreed  with  generally  in  the  views 
I  take  ?  " 

"  I  entirely  coincide  with  them,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  who 
had  been  very  attentive. 

"  As  I  have  no  doubt  I  should,"  added  Mr.  Tartar,  smiling, 
"  if  1  understood  them." 

"  Fair  and  softly,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious  ;  "  we  shall  fully 
confide  in  you  directly,  if  you  will  favour  us  with  your  permis- 
sion. Now,  if  our  local  friend  should  have  any  informant  on 
the  spot,  it  is  tolerably  clear  that  such  informant  can  only  be 
set  to  watch  the  chambers  in  the  occupation  of  Mr.  Neville. 
He  reporting  to  our  local  friend,  who  comes  and  goes  there, 
our  local  friend  would  supply  for  himself,  from  his  own  previous 
knowledge,  the  identity  of  the  parties.  Nobody  can  be  set  to 
watch  all  Staple,  or  to  concern  himself  with  comers  and  goers 
to  other  sets  of  chambers,  unless,  indeed,  mine." 

"  I  begin  to  understand  to  what  you  tend,"  said  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle, "and  highly  approve  of  your  caution." 

"  I  needn't  repeat  that  I  know  nothing  yet  of  the  why  and 
wherefore,"  said  Mr.  Tartar ;  "  but  1  also  understood  to  what 
you  tend,  so  let  me  say  at  once  that  my  chambers  are  freely  at 
your  disposal." 

"  There ! "  cried  Mr.  Grewrgious,  smoothing  his  head  tri- 
umphantly. "  Now  we  have  all  got  the  idea.  You  have  it,  my 
dear?" 


208  THE   MYSTERY    OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"I  think  I  have,"  said  Rosa,  blushing  a  little  as  Mr.  Tartai 
looked  quickly  towards  her. 

"  You  see;  you  go  over  to  Staple  with  Mr.  Crisparkle  and 

Mr.  Tartar,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious;  "  I  going  in  and  out  and  out 
and  in,  alone,  in  my  usual  way  ;  you  go  up  with  those  gen- 
tlemen to  Mr.  Tartar's  rooms;  you  look  into  Mr.  Tartar's 
flower-garden  ;  you  wait  for  Miss  Helena's  appearance  there, 
or  you  signify  to  Miss  Helena  that  you  are  close  by  ;  and  you 
communicate  with  her  freely  and  no  spy  can  be  the  wiser." 

"1  am  very  much  afraid  I  shall  be — " 

"Be  what,  my  dear?"  asked  Mr.  Grewgious,  as  she  hesi- 
tated.     "  Not  frightened?" 

"No,  not  that,"  said  Rosa  shyly;  "in  Mr.  Tartar's  way. 
We  seem  to  be  appropriating  Mr.  Tartar's  residence  so  very 
coolly." 

"I  protest  to  you,"  returned  that  gentleman,  "that  I  shall 
think  the  better  of  it  for  evermore  if  your  voice  sounds  in  it 
only  once." 

Rosa,  not  quite  knowing  what  to  say  about  that,  cast  down 
her  eyes,  and,  by  turning  to  Mr.  Grewgious,  dutifully  asked  if  she 
should  put  her  hat  on.  Mr.  Grewgious  being  of  opinion  that 
she  could  not  do  better,  she  withdrew  for  the  purpose.  Mr. 
Crisparkle  took  the  opportunity  of  giving  Mr.  Taitar  a  sum- 
mary of  the  distresses  of  Neville  and  his  sister.  The  oppor- 
tunity was  quite  long  enough,  as  the  hat  happened  to  require  a 
V    little  extra  fitting  on. 

Mr.  Tartar  gave  his  arm  to  Rosa,  and  Mr.  Crisparkle  walked, 
detached,  in  front. 

"  Poor,  poor  Eddy  ! "  thought  Rosa,  as  they  went  along. 

Mr.  Tartar  waved  his  right  hand  as  he  bent  his  head  down 
over  Rosa,  talking  in  an  animated  way. 

"  It  was  not  so  powerful  or  so  sun-browned  when  it  saved 
Mr.  Crisparkle,"  thought  Rosa,  glancing  at  it;  "but  it  must 
have  been  very  steady  and  determined  even  then." 

Mr.  Tartar  told  her  he  had  been  a  sailor,  roving  everywhere 
for  years  and  years. 

"  When  are  you  going  to  sea  again  ?  "  asked  Rosa. 

"  Never  !  " 

Rosa  wondered  what  the  girls  would  say  if  they  could  see 
her  crossing  the  wide  street  on  the  sailor's  arm.  And  she 
fancied  that  the  passers-by  must  think  her  very  little  and  very 
helpless  contrasted  with  the  strong  figure  that  could  have 
caught  her  up  and  carried  her  out  of  any  danger,  miles  and 
miles  without  resting. 


A    GRITTY  STATE    OF    THINGS   COMES   ON. 


209 


She  was  thinking  farther  that  his  far-seeing  blue  eyes  looked 
as  if  the)'  had  been  used  to  watch  danger  afar  off,  and  to  watch 
it  without  flinching,  drawing  nearer  and  nearer,  when,  happen- 
ing to  raise  her  own  eyes,  she  found  that  he  seemed  to  be 
thinking  something  about  them. 

This  a  little  confused  Rosebud,  and  may  account  for  her 
never  afterwards  quite  knowing  how  she  ascended  (with  his 
help)  to  his  garden  in  the  air,  and  seemed  to  get  into  a  mar- 
vellous country  that  came  into  sudden  bloom  like  the  country 
on  the  summit  of  the  magic  beanstalk.  May  it  flourish  for- 
ever ! 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A    Gritty  State  of  Things  comes  on. 

g-^TpaR.  TARTAR'S  chambers  were  the  neatest,  the  clean- 
est, and  the  best-ordered  chambers  ever  seen  under 


the  sun,  moon,  and  stars.  The  floors  were  scrubbed 
to  that  extent  that  you  might  have  supposed  the  Lon- 
don blacks  emancipated  forever  and  gone  out  of  the  land  for 
good.  Every  inch  of  brass  work  in  Mr.  Tartar's  possession 
was  polished  and  burnished  till  it  shown  like  a  brazen  mirror. 
No  speck,  nor  spot,  nor  spatter  soiled  the  purity  of  any  of  Mr. 
Tartar's  household  gods,  large,  small,  or  middle-sized.  His  sit- 
ting-room was  like  the  admiral's  cabin  ;  his  bath-room  was  like 
a  dairy  ;  his  sleeping  chamber,  fitted  all  about  with  lockers  and 
drawers,  was  like  a  seedsman's  shop ;  and  his  nicely  balanced 
cot  just  stirred  in  the  midst  as  if  it  breathed.  Everything  be- 
longing to  Mr.  Tartar  had  quarters  of  its  own  assigned  to  it  ; 
his  maps  and  charts  had  their  quarters  ;  his  books  had  theirs  ; 
his  brushes  had  theirs  ;  his  boots  had  theirs  ;  his  clothes  had 
theirs ;  his  case-bottles  had  theirs  ;  his  telescopes  and  other 
instruments  had  theirs.  Everything  was  readily  accessible. 
Shelf,  bracket,  locker,  hook,  and  drawer  were  equally  wiihm 
reach,  and  were  equally  contrived  with  a  view  to  avoid- 
ing waste  of  room,  and  providing  some  snug  inches  of  stowage 
for  something  that  would  have  exactly  fitted  nowhere  else. 
His  gleaming  little  service  of  plate  was  so  arranged  upon  his 
sideboard  as  that  a  slack  salt-spoon  would  have  instantly  be- 
trayed itself;  his  toilet  implements,  were  so  arranged  upon  his 
dressing-table  as  that  a  toothpick  of  slovenly  deportment  could 


2io  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

have  been  reported  at  a  glance.  So  with  the  curiosities  he  had 
brought  home  from  various  voyages.  Stuffed,  dried,  repolished, 
or  otherwise  preserved,  according  to  their  kind  :  birds,  iishes, 
reptiles,  arms,  articles  of  dress,  shells,  sea-weeds,  grasses,  or 
memorials  of  coral  reef;  each  was  displayed  in  its  especial 
place,  and  each  could  have  been  displayed  in  no  better  place. 
Taint  and  varnish  seemed  to  be  kept  somewhere  out  of  sight, 
in  constant  readiness  to  obliterate  stray  finger-marks  wher- 
ever any  might  become  perceptible  in  Mr.  Tartar's  chambers. 
No  man-of-war  was  ever  kept  more  spick  and  span  from  careless 
touch.  On  this  bright  summer  day  a  neat  awning  was  rigged 
over  Mr.  Tartar's  flower-garden  as  only  a  sailor  could  rig  it  ; 
and  there  was  a  sea-going  air  upon  the  whole  effect,  so  delight- 
fully complete  that  the  flower-garden  might  have  appertained 
to  stem-windows  afloat,  and  the  whole  concern  might  have 
bowled  away  gallantly  with  all  on  board,  if  Mr.  Tartar  had 
only  clapped  to  his  lips  the  speaking-trumpet  that  was  slung  in 
a  coiner,  and  given  hoarse  orders  to  have  the  anchor  up,  look 
alive  there,  men,  and  get  all  sail  upon  her  ! 

Mr.  Tartar,  doing  the  honors  of  this  gallant  craft,  was  of  a 
piece  with  the  rest.  When  a  man  rides  an  amiable  hobbv  that 
shies  at  nothing  and  kicks  nobody,  it  is  only  agreeable  to  find 
him  riding  it  with  a  humorous  sense  of  the  droll  side  of  the 
creature.  When  the  man  is  a  cordial  and  an  earnest  man  by 
nature,  and  withal  is  perfectly  fresh  and  genuine,  it  may  be 
doubted  whether  he  is  ever  seen  to  greater  advantage  than  at 
such  a  time.  So  Rosa  would  have  naturally  thought  (even  if 
she  hadn't  been  conducted  over  the  ship  with  all  the  homage 
due  to  the  First  Lady  of  the  Admiralty,  or  First  Fairy  of  the 
Sea),  that  it  was  charming  to  see  and  hear  Mr.  Tai  tar  half  laugh- 
ing at,  and  half  rejoicing  in  his  various  contrivances.  So  Rosa 
would  have  naturally  thought,  anyhow,  that  the  sunburnt  sailor 
showed  to  great  advantage  when,  the  inspection  finished,  he 
delicately  withdrew  out  of  his  Admiral's  Cabin,  beseeching  her 
to  consider  herself  its  Queen,  and  waving  her  free  of  his  flower- 
garden,  with  the  hand  that  had  had  Mr.  Crisparkle's  life  in  it. 

'■'■  Helena  !      Helena  Landless  !     Are  you  there?" 

"  Who  speaks  to  me  ?  Not  Rosa?  "  Then  a  second  hand- 
some face  appearing. 

"  Yes,  my  darling  !  " 

"  Why,  how  did  you  come  here,  dearest?" 

"I — I  don't  quite  know,"  said  Rosa  with  a  blush;  "unless 
I  am  dreaming  !  " 

Why  with  a  blush  ?     For  their  two  faces  were  alone  with  the 


A    GRITTY  STATE    OF    THINGS    COMES    ON.       2II 

other  flowers.  Are  blushes  among  ihe  fruits  of  the  country  of 
the  magic  beanstalk. 

"/am  not  dreaming,"  said  Helena,  smiling.  "I  should 
take  more  for  granted  if  I  were.  How  do  we  come  together — 
or  so  near  together — so  very  unexpectedly?" 

Unexpectedly  indeed,  among  the  dingy  gables  and  chimney- 
pots of  P.  J.  T.'s  connection,  and  the  flowers  that  had  sprung 
from  the  salt  sea.  But  Rosa,  waking,  told  in  a  hurry  how  they 
came  to  be  together,  and  all  the  why  and  wherefore  of  that 
matter. 

'•And  Mr.  Crisparkle  is  here,"  said  Rosa,  in  rapid  conclus- 
ion ;   •'  and  could  you  believe  it  ?     Long  ago,  he  saved  his  life  !  " 

"  I  could  believe  any  such  thing  of  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  returned 
Helena,  with  a  mantling  face." 

(More  blushes  in  the  Beanstalk  country  !) 

"Yes,  but  it  wasn't  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  said  Rosa,  quickly  put- 
ting in  the  correction. 

"  I  don't  understand,  love." 

"It  was  very  nice  of  Mr.  Crisparkle  to  be  saved,"  said  Rosa, 
"and  he  couldn't  have  shown  his  high  opinion  of  Mr.  Tartar 
more  expressively.     But  it  was  Mr.  Tartar  who  saved  him." 

Helena's  dark  eyes  looked  very  earnestly  at  the  bright  face 
among  the  leaves,  and  she  asked,  in  a  slower  and  more  thought- 
ful tone, — 

"  Is  Mr.  Tartar  with  you  now,  dear  ?  " 

"  No  ;  because  he  has  given  up  his  rooms  to  me, — to  us,  I 
mean.      It  is  such  a  beautiful  place  !  " 

"  Is  it?" 

"  It  is  like  the  inside  of  the  most  exquisite  ship  that  ever 
sailed.      It  is  like — it  is  like — " 

"Like  a  dream  ?"   suggested  Helena. 

Rosa  answered  with  a  little  nod,  and  smelled  the  flowers. 

Helena  resumed,  after  a  short  pause  of  silence,  during  which 
she  seemed  (or  it  was  Rosa's  fancy)  to  compassionate  some- 
body :  "  My  poor  Neville  is  reading  in  his  own  room,  the  sun 
being  so  very  bright  on  this  side  just  now.  I  think  he  had 
better  not  know  that  you  are  so  near." 

"  O,  I  think  so,  too  !  "   cried  Rosa,  very  readily. 

"I  suppose,"  pursued  Helena,  doubtfully,  "that  he  must 
know  by  and  by  all  you  have  told  me  ;  but  I  am  not  sure. 
Ask  Mr.  Crisparkle' s  advice,  my  darling.  Ask  him  whether  I 
may  tell  Neville  as  much  or  as  little  of  what  you  have  told  me 
as  I  think  best." 

Rosa    subsided    into   her  state-cabin,   and   propounded    the 


212  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

question.     The  Minor  Canon  was  for  the  free  exercise  of  Hel- 
ena's judgment. 

"  I  thank  him  very  much,"  said  Helena,  when  Rosa  emerged 
again  with  her  report.  "  Ask  him  whether  it  would  be  best  to 
wait  until  any  more  maligning  and  pursuing  of  Neville  on  the 
part  of  this  wretch  shall  disclose  itself,  or  to  try  to  anticipate 
it :  1  mean,  so  far  as  to  find  out  whether  any  such  goes  on 
darkly  about  us  ?" 

The  Minor  Canon  found  this  point  so  difficult  to  give  a  con- 
fident opinion  on,  that,  after  two  or  three  attempts  and  failures, 
he  suggested  a  reference  to  Mr.  Grewgious.  Helena  acquies- 
cing, he  betook  himself  (with  a  most  unsuccessful  assumption  of 
lounging  indifference)  across  the  quadrangle  to  P.  J.  T.'s,  and 
stated  it.  Mr.  Grewgious  held  decidedly  to  the  general  princi- 
ple that  if  you  could  steal  a  march  upon  a  brigand  or  a  wild 
beast,  you  had  belter  do  it  ;  and  he  also  held  decidedly  to  the 
special  case  that  John  Jasper  was  a  brigand  and  a  wild  beast  in 
combination. 

Thus  advised,  Mr.  Crisparkle  came  back  again  and  reported 
to  Rosa,  who  in  her  turn  reported  to  Helena.  She,  now  stead- 
ily pursuing  her  train  of  thought  at  her  window,  considered 
thereupon. 

"  We  may  count  on  Mr.  Tartar's  readiness  to  help  us.  Rosa  ?  " 
she  inquired. 

O  yes  !  Rosa  shyly  thought  so.  O  yes,  Rosa  shyly  believed 
she  could  almost  answer  for  it.  But  should  sue  ask  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle ?  "I  think  your  authority  on  the  point  as  good  as  his, 
my  dear,"  said  Helena,  sedately,  "  and  you  needn't  disappear 
again  for  that."      Odd  of  Helena  ! 

"You  see,  Neville,"  Helena  pursued  after  more  reflection, 
"  knows  no  one  else  here  ;  he  has  not  so  much  as  exchanged  a 
word  with  any  one  else  here,  if  Mr.  Tartar  would  call  to  see 
him  openly  and  often  ;  if  he  would  spare  a  minute  for  the  pur- 
pose, frequently  ;  if  he  would  even  do  so,  almost  daily  ;  some- 
thing might  come  of  it." 

"Something  might  come  of  it,  dear?"  repeated  Rosa,  sui 
veying  her  friend's  beauty  with  a  highly  perplexed  face. 
"  Something  might  ?  " 

'■  If  Neville's  movements  are  really  watched,  and  if  the  pur- 
pose really  is  to  isolate  him  from  all  friends  and  acquaintance 
and  wear  his  daily  life  out,  grain  by  grain  (which  would  seem  to 
be  the  threat  to  you),  does  it  not  appear  likely,"  said  Helena, 
"  that  his  enemy  would  in  some  way  communicate  with  Mr. 
Tartar  to  warn  him  off  from  Neville  ?     In  which  case  we  might 


A    GRITTY  STATE    OF    THINGS    COMES   ON.       2I 3 

not  only  know  the  fact,  but  might  know  from  Mr.  Tartar  what 
the  terms  of  the  communication  were." 

"  I  see  ! "  cried  Rosa.  And  immediately  darted  into  her 
state-cabin  again. 

Presently  her  pretty  face  reappeared,  with  a  greatly  height- 
ened colour,  and  she  said  that  she  had  told  Mr.  Crisparkle,  and 
that  Mi'.  Crisparkle  had  fetched  in  Mr.  Tartar,  and  that  Mr. 
Tartar— "  who  is  waiting  now  in  case  you  want  him,"  added 
Rosa,  with  a  half-look  back,  and  in  not  a  little  confusion,  be- 
tween the  inside  of  the  state-cabin  and  out — had  declared  his 
readiness  to  act  as  she  had  suggested,  and  to  enter  on  his  task 
that  very  day. 

"  I  thank  him  from  my  heart,"  said  Helena.  "  Pray  tell  him 
so." 

Again  not  a  little  confused  between  the  Flower-garden  and 
the  Cabin,  Rosa  dipped  in  with  her  message,  and  dipped  out 
again  with  more  assurances  from  Mr.  Tartar,  and  stood  waver- 
ing in  a  divided  state  between  Helena  and  him,  which  proved 
that  confusion  is  not  always  necessarily  awkward,  but  may 
sometimes  present  a  very  pleasant  appearance. 

"And.  now,  darling,"  said  Helena,  "we  will  be  mindful  of 
the  caution  that  has  restricted  us  to  this  interview  for  the  pres- 
ent, and  will  part.  I  hear  Neville  moving  too.  Are  you  going 
back  ?  " 

"  To  Miss  Twinkleton's  ?  "  asked  Rosa. 

"Yes." 

"  O,  I  could  never  go  there  any  more;  I  couldn't,  indeed, 
after  that  dreadful  interview  !  "  said  Rosa. 

"  Then  where  are  you  going,  pretty  one  ?  " 

"  Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  1  don't  know,"  said  Rosa.  "  I 
have  settled  nothing  at  all  yet,  but  my  guardian  will  take  care 
of  me.  Don't  be  uneasy,  dear.  I  shall  be  sure  to  be  some- 
where." 

(It  did  seem  likely.) 

"  And  I  shall  hear  of  my  Rosebud  from  Mr.  Tartar  ?  "  inquired 
Helena. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so;  from — "  Rosa  looked  back  again  in  a 
flutter,  instead  of  supplying  the  name.  "  But  tell  me  one  thing 
before  we  part,  dearest  Helena.  Tell  me  that  you  are  sure, 
sure,  sure,  1  couldn't  help  it." 

"  Help  it,  love?" 

"Help  making  him  malicious  and  revengeful.  I  couldn't 
hold  any  terms  with  him,  could  I  ?  " 

"  You  know  how  I  love  you,  darling,"  answered  Helena,  with 


214 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  BROOD. 


indignation,  "  but  I  would  sooner  see  you  dead  at  his  wicked 
feet/' 

"  That's  a  great  comfort  to  me  !  And  you  will  tell  your 
poor  brother  so,  won't  you?  And  you  will  give  him  my  re- 
membrance and  sympathy  ?  And  you  will  ask  him  not  to  hate 
me  ?  " 

With  a  mournful  shake  of  the  head,  as  if  that  would  be  quite 
a  superfluous  entreaty,  Helena  lovingly  kissed  her  two  hands  to 
her  friend,  and  her  friend's  two  hands  were  kissed  to  her,  and 
then  she  saw  a  third  hand  (a  brown  one)  appear  among  the 
flowers  and  leaves,  and  help  her  friend  out  of  sight. 

The  reflection  that  Mr.  Tartar  produced  in  the  Admiral's 
Cabin  by  merely  touching  the  spring  knob  in  a  locker  and  the 
handle  of  a  drawer,  was  a  dazzling  enchanted  repast.  Wonder- 
ful macaroons,  glittering  liqueurs,  magically  preserved  tropical 
spices,  and  jellies  of  celestial  tropica!  fruits,  displayed  them- 
selves profusely  at  an  instant's  notice.  But  Mr.  Tartar  could 
not  make  time  stand  still ;  and  time,  with  his  hard-hearted 
fleetness,  strode  on  so  fast  that  Rosa  was  obliged  to  come  down 
from  the  Beanstalk  country  to  earth  and  her  guardian's  cham- 
bers. 

"And  now,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "what  is  to  be 
done  next  ?  To  put  the  same  thought  in  another  form  ;  what 
is  to  be  done  with  you  ?  " 

Rosa  could  only  look  apologetically  sensible  of  being  very 
much  in  her  own  way,  and  in  everybody  else's.  Some  passing 
idea  of  living,  lire-proof,  up  a  good  many  stairs  in  Furnival's 
Inn  for  the*rest  of  her  life  was  the  only  thing  in  the  nature  of  a 
plan  that  occurred  to  her. 

"  It  has  come  into  my  thoughts,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  that 
as  the  respected  lady,  Miss  Twinkleton,  occasionally  repairs  to 
London  in  the  recess,  with  the  view  of  extending  her  connec- 
tion, and  being  available  for  interviews  with  metropolitan  par- 
ents, if  any, — whether,  until  we  have  time  in  which  to  turn  our- 
selves round,  we  might  invite  Miss  Twinkleton  to  come  and  stay 
with  you  for  a  month?" 

"  Stay  where,  sir  ?  " 

"  Whether,"  explained  Mr.  Grewgious,  t:  we  might  take  a 
furnished  lodging  in  town  for  a  month,  and  invite  Miss  Twinkle- 
ton to  assume  the  charge  of  you  in  it  for  that  period  ?" 

"And  afterwards?"  hinted  Rosa. 

"And  afterwards,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,"  "we  should  be  ns 
.vorse  off  than  we  are  now." 

"  I  think  that  might  smooth  the  way,"  assented  Rosa. 


A    GRITTY  STATE    OF    THINGS    COMES    ON.       2 1 5 

"Then  let  us,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  rising,  "go  and  look 
for  a  furnished  lodging.  Nothing  could  be  more  acceptable 
to  me  than  the  sweet  presence  of  last  evening  for  all  the  re- 
maining evenings  of  my  existence  ;  but  these  are  not  fit  sur- 
roundings for  a  young  lady.  Let  us  set  out  in  quest  of  adven- 
tures, and  look  for  a  furnished  lodging.  In  the  mean  time,  Mr. 
larkle  here,  about  to  return  home  immediately,  will  no 
doubt  kindly  see  Miss  Twinkleton  and  invite  that  lady  to  co- 
operate in  our  plan." 

Mr.  Crisparkle,  willingly  accepting  the  commission,  took 
his  departure;  Mr.  Grewgious  and  his  ward  set  forth  on  their 
lition. 

As  Mr.  Grewgious' s  idea  of  looking  at  a  furnished  lodging 
was  to  get  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  to  a  house  with  a 
suitable  bill  in  the  window,  a/id  stare  at  it ;  and  then  work  his 
way  tortuously  to  the  back  of  the  house,  and  stare  at  that  ;  and 
then  not  go  in,  but  make  similar  trials  of  another  house,  with 
the  same  result,  their  progress  was  but  slow.  At  length  he 
bethought  himself  of  a  widowed  cousin,  divers  times  removed, 
of  Mr.  Bazzard's,  who  had  once  solicited  his  influence  in  the 
lodger  world,  and  who  lived  in  Southampton  Street,  Bloomsbury 
Square.  This  lady's  name,  stated  in  uncompromising  capitals 
of  considerable  size  on  a  brass  door-plate,  and  yet  not  lucidly 
as  to  sex  or  condition,  was  Billickin. 

Personal  faintness  and  an  overpowering  personal  candour 
were  the  distinguishing  features  of  Mrs.  Billickin's  organisation. 
She  came  languishing  out  of  her  own  exclusive  back  parlour, 
with  the  air  of  having  been  expressly  brought  to  for  the  purpose 
from  an  accumulation  of  several  swoons. 

"  I  hope  I  see  you  well,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  recognizing 
her  visitor  with  a  bend. 

"Thank  you,  quite  well.  And  you,  ma'am  ?"  returned  Mr. 
Grewgious. 

"  I  am  as  well,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  becoming  aspirational  with 
excess  of  faintness,  "as  I  hever  ham." 

"  My  ward  and  an  elderly  lady,'*  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  wish 
to  find  a  genteel  lodging  for  a  month  or  so.  Have  you  any 
apartments  available,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Grewgious,"  returned  Mrs.  Billickin.  "  I  will  not  deceive 
you.  far  from  it.      I  have  apartments  available." 

This  with  the  air  of  add  ng,  "Co  '  to  the  stake,  if  you 

will,  but  while  I  live,  I  will  be  candid." 

"And  now,  what  apartments,  ma'am  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Grewgious, 


2iC  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

cosily,  to  tame  a  certain  severity  apparent  on  the  part  of  Mrs. 
Billickin. 

"There  is  this  sitting-room, — which  call  it  what  yon  will,  it 
is  the  front  parlour,  miss,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  impressing  Rosa 
into  the  conversation  ;  "the  back  parlour  being  what  I  cling  to 
and  never  part  with  ;  and  there  is  two  bedrooms  at  the  top  of 
the  'ouse  with  gas  laid  on.  I  do  not  tell  you  that  your  bed- 
room floors  is  firm,  for  firm  they  are  not.  The  gashtter  himself 
allowed  that  to  make  a  firm  job,  he  must  go  right  under  your 
jistes,  and  it  were  not  worth  the  outlay  as  a  yearly  tenant  so  to 
do.  The  piping  is  carried  above  your  jistes,  and  it  is  best  that 
it  should  be  made  known  to  you." 

Mr.  Grewgious  and  Rosa  exchanged  looks  of  some  dismay, 
though  they  had  not  the  least  idea  what  latent  horrors  this  car- 
riage of  the  piping  might  involve.  Mrs.  Billickin  put  her  hand 
to  her  heart,  as  having  eased  it  of  a  load. 

"  Well !  The  roof  is  all  right,  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious, 
plucking  up  a  little. 

"Mr.  Grewgious,"  returned  Mrs.  Billickin,  "if  I  was  to  tell 
you,  sir,  that  to  have  nothink  above  you,  is  to  have  a  floor 
above  you,  I  should  put  a  deception  upon  you  which  I  will 
not  do.  No,  sir.  Your  slates  will  rattle  loose  at  that  elewa- 
tion  in  windy  weather,  do  your  utmost,  best  or  worst !  I  defy 
you,  sir,  be  you  what  you  may,  to  keep  your  slates  tight,  try 
how  you  can."  Here  Mrs.  Billlickin  having  been  warm  with 
Mr.  Grewgious,  cooled  a  little,  not  to  abuse  the  moral  power 
she  held  over  him.  "Consequent,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Billickin, 
more  mildly,  but  still  firmly  in  her  incorruptible  candour, — 
"  consequent  it  would  be  worse  than  of  no  use  for  me  to  trapse 
and  travel  up  to  the  top  of  the  'ouse  with  you,  and  for  you  to  say 
1  Mrs.  Billickin  what  stain  do  f  notice  in  the  ceiling,  for  a  stain 
I  do  consider  it?'  and  for  me  to  answer,  'I  do  not  understand 
you,  sir.'  No,  sir ;  I  will  not  be  so  underhand.  I  do  understand 
you  before  you  p'int  it  out.  It  is  the  wet,  sir.  It  do  come  in, 
and  it  do  not  come  in.  You  may  lay  dry  there  half  your  life- 
time, but  the  time  will  come,  and  it  is  best  that  you  should  know 
it,  when  a  dripping  sop  would  be  no  name  for  you." 

Mr.  Grewgious  looked  much  disgraced  by  being  prefigured 
in  this  pickle. 

"  Have  yon  any  other  apartments,  ma'am  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Mr.  Grewgious,"  returned  Mrs.  Billickin,  with  much  solem- 
nity, "  I  have.  You  ask  me  have  I,  and  my  open  and  my 
honest  answer  air,  I  have.  The  first  and  second  floors  is  wacant, 
and  sweet  rooms." 


A    GRITTY  STATE    OF    THINGS   COMES   ON. 


217 


"  Come,  come  !  There's  nothing  against  them"  said  Mr. 
Grewgious,  comforting  himself. 

"  Mr.  Grewgious,"  replied  Mrs.  Billickin,  "pardon  me,  there 
is  the  stairs.  Unless  your  mind  is  prepared  for  the  stairs,  it 
will  lead  to  inevitable  disappointment.  You  cannot,  miss," 
said  Mrs.  Billickin,  addressing  Rosa,  reproachfully,  "place  a 
first  floor,  and  far  less  a  second,  on  the  level  footing  of  a  par- 
lour. No  you  cannot  do  it,  Miss,  it  is  beyond  your  power,  and 
wherefore  try  ?  " 

Mrs.  Billickin  put  it  very  feelingly,  as  if  Rosa  had  shown  a 
headstrong  determination  to  hold  the  untenable  position. 

"  Can  we  see  these  rooms,  ma'am  ?  "  inquired  her  guardian. 

"  Mr.  Grewgious,"  returned  Mrs.  Billickin,  "you  can.  I  will 
not  disguise  it  from  you,  sir,  you  can." 

Mrs.  Billickin  then  sent  into  her  back  parlour  for  her  shawl 
(it  being  a  state  fiction  dating  from  immemorial  antiquity,  that 
she  could  never  go  anywhere  without  being  wrapped  up),  and 
having  been  enrolled  by  her  attendant,  led  the  way.  She  made 
various  genteel  pauses  on  the  stairs  for  breath,  and  clutched  at 
her  heart  in  the  drawing-room  as  if  it  had  very  nearly  got  loose, 
and  she  had  caught  it  in  the  act  of  taking  wing. 

"And  the  second  floor?"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  on  finding 
the  first  satisfactory. 

"  Mr.  Grewgious,"  replied  Mrs.  Billickin,  turning  upon  him 
with  ceremony,  as  if  the  time  had  now  come  when  a  distinct 
understanding  on  a  difficult  point  must  be  arrived  at,  and  a 
solemn  confidence  established,  "  the  second  floor  is  over  this." 

"  Can  we  see  that  too,  ma'am  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  returned  Mrs.  Billickin,  "it  is  open  as  the  day." 

That  also  proving  satisfactory,  Mr.  Grewgious  retired  into 
a  window  with  Rosa  for  a  few  words  of  consultation,  and  then, 
asking  for  pen  and  ink,  sketched  out  a  line  or  two  of  agree- 
ment. In  the  mean  time  Mrs.  Billickin  took  a  seat,  and  de- 
livered a  kind  of  Index  to,  or  Abstract  of,  the  general  ques- 
tion. 

"  Five-and-forty  shillings  per  week  by  the  month  certain  at 
the  time  of  year,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  "  is  only  reasonable  to 
both  parties.  It  is  not  Bond  Street  nor  yet  St.  James's  Palace  ; 
but  it  is  not  pretended  that  it  is.  Neither  is  it  attempted  to 
be  denied — for  why  should  it  ? — that  the  Arching  leads  to  a 
Mews.  Mewses  must  exist.  Respecting  attendance  ;  two  is 
kep'  at  liberal  wages.  Words  has  arisen  as  to  tradesmen,  but 
dirty  shoes  on  fresh  hearth-stoning  was  attributable,  and  no 
wish  for  a'  commission  on  your  orders.     Coal  is  either  by  the 


2i8  THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

fire,  or  ptr  the  scuttle."  She  emphasized  the  prepositions  as 
marking  a  subtle  but  immense  difference.  "  Dogs  is  not 
viewed  with  faviour.  Besides  litter,  they  gets  stole,  and  shar- 
ing suspicions  is  apt  to  creep  in,  and  unpleasantness  takes 
place." 

By  this  time  Mr.  Grewgious  had  his  agreement-lines  and  his 
earnest-money  ready.  "  I  have  signed  it  for  the  ladies,  ma'am, 
he  said,  "  and  you'll  have  the  goodness  to  sign  it  for  yourself, 
Christain  and  Surname,  there,  if  you  please." 

"  Mr.  Grewgious,"  said  Mrs.  Billtck'in,  in  a  new  burst  of 
candour,  "  no,  sir.     You  must  excuse  the  Christian  name." 

Mr.  Grewgious  stared  at  her. 

"The  door-plate  is  used  as  a  protection,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin, 
"  and  acts  as  such,  and  go  from  it  I  will  not." 

Mr.  Grewgious  stared  at  Rosa. 

"No,  Mr.  Grewgious,  you  must  excuse  me.  So  long  as  this 
'ouse  is  known  indefinite  as  Billickin's  and  so  long  as  it  is  a 
doubt  with  the  riff-raff  where  Billickin  may  be  hidin',  near  the 
street  door  or  down  the  airy,  and  what  his  weight  and  size,  so 
long  I  feel  safe.  But  commit  myself  to  a  solitary  female  state- 
ment, no,  Miss  !  Nor  would  you  for  a  moment  wish,"  said 
Mrs.  Billickin,  with  a  strong  sense  of  injury,  "to  take  advan- 
tage of  your  sex,  if  you  was  not  brought  to  it  by  inconsiderate 
example." 

Rosa,  reddening  as  if  she  had  made  some  most  disgraceful 
attempt  to  overreach  the  good  lady,  besought  Mr.  Grewgious 
to  rest  content  with  any  signature.  And  accordingly,  in  a  ba- 
ronical  way,  the  sign-manual  Billickim  got  appended  to  the 
document. 

Details  were  then  settled  for  taking  possession  on  the  next 
day  but  one,  when  Miss  Twinkleton  might  be  reasonably  ex- 
pected ;  and  Rosa  went  back  to  Fumival's  Inn  on  her  guar- 
dian's arm. 

Behold  Mr.  Tartar  walking  up  and  down  Fumival's  Inn, 
checking  himself  when  he  saw  them  coming,  and  advancing  tow- 
ards them  ! 

"  It  occurred  to  me,"  hinted  Mr.  Tartar,  "  that  we  might  go 
up  the  river,  the  weather  being  so  delicious  and  the  fide  serv- 
ing.    I  have  a  boat  of  my  own  at  the  Temple  Stairs." 

"  I  have  not  been  up  the  river  for  this  many  a  day,"  said  Mr. 
Grewgious,  tempted. 

"  I  was  never  up  the  river,"  added  Rosa. 

Within  half  an  hour  they  were  setting  this  matter  right  by 
going  up  the  river.      The  tide  was   running   with    them,    the 


A    GRITTY  STATE    OF    THINGS   COMES   OAT. 


219 


afternoon  was  charming.  Mr.  Tartar's  boat  was  perfect.  Mr. 
Tartar  and  Lobley  (Mr.  Tartar's  man)  palled  a  pair  of  oars. 
Mr.  Tartar  had  a  yacht,  it  seemed,  lying  somewhere  down  by 
Greenhithe,  and  Mr.  Tartar's  man  had  charge  of  this  yacht, 
ami  was  detached  upon  his  present  service.  Re  was  a  jolly 
favoured  man,  with  tawney  hair  and  whiskers,  and  a  big  red 
face.  He  was  the  dead  image  of  the  sun  in  old  woodcuts,  his 
hair  and  whiskers  answering  for  rays  all  round  him.  Resplend- 
ent in  the  bow  of  the  boat,  he  was  a  shining  sight,  with  a  man- 
of-war's  man's  shirt  on, — or  off,  according  to  opinion, — and  his 
arms  and  breast  all  tattooed  all  sorts  of  patterns.  Lobley 
seemed  to  take  it  easily,  and  so  did  Mr.  Tartar  ;  yet  their  oars 
bent  as  they  pulled,  and  the  boat  bounded  under  them.  Mr. 
Tartar  talked  as  if  he  were  doing  nothing,  to  Rosa,  who  was 
really  doing  nothing,  and  to  Mr.  Grewgious,  who  was  doing 
this  much  that  he  steered  all  wrong  ;  but  what  did  that  matter 
when  a  turn  of  Mr.  Tartar's  skilful  wrist,  or  a  mere  grin  of  Mr. 
Lobley's  over  the  bow,  put  all  to  rights!  The  tide  bore  them 
on  in  the  gayest  and  most  sparkling  manner,  until  they  stopped 
to  dine  in  some  everlastingly  green  garden,  needing  no  matter- 
of-fact  identification  here  ;  and  then  the  tide  obligingly  turned, 
—being  devoted  to  that  party  alone  for  that  day  ;  and  as  they 
floated  idly  among  some  osier  beds,  Rosa  tried  what  she  could 
do  in  the  rowing  way,  and  came  oft"  splendidly,  being  much  as- 
sisted ;  and  Mr.  Grewgious  tried  what  he  could  do,  and  came 
off  on  his  back,  doubled  up  with  an  oar  under  his  chin,  being 
not  assisted  at  all.  Then  there  was  an  interval  of  rest  under 
boughs  (such  rest  !)  what  time  Mr.  Lobley  mopped,  and,  arrang- 
ing cushions,  stretchers,  and  the  like,  danced  the  tight  rope  the 
whole  length  of  the  boat  like  a  man  to  whom  shoes  were  a 
superstition  and  stockings  slavery  ;  and  then  came  the  sweet 
return  among  delicious  odours  of  limes  in  bloom,  and  musical 
ripplings  ;  and  all  too  soon  the  great  black  city  cast  its  shadow 
on  the  waters,  and  its  dark  bridges  spanned  them  as  death  spans 
life,  and  the  everlastingly  green  garden  seemed  to  be  left  for 
everlasting,  unregainable  and  far  away. 

"  Cannot  people  get  through  life  without  gritty  stages,  I 
wonder!''  Rosa  thought  next  day,  when  the  town  was  very 
gritty  again,  and  everything  had  a  strange  and  an  uncomfortable 
appearance  of  seeming  to  wait  for  something  that  wouldn't 
come?  No.  She  began  to  think  that  now  the  Cloisterham 
school  days  had  glided  past  and  gone,  the  gritty  stages  would 
begin  to  set  in  at  intervals  and  make  themselves  wearily 
known  1 


220  THE   MYSTERY   0E  EDWIN  DR00D. 

Yet  what  did  Rosa  expect  ?  Did  she  expect  Miss  Twinkle- 
ton  ?  Miss  Twinkleton  duly  came.  Forth  from  her  back 
parlour  issued  the  Billickin  to  receive  Miss  Twinkleton,  and 
AVar- was  in  the  Billickin's  eye  from  that  fell  moment. 

Miss  Twinkleton  brought  a  quantity  of  luggage  with  her, 
having  all  Rosa's  as  well  as  her  own.  The  Billickin  took  it 
ill  that  Miss  Twiakleton's  mind,  being  sorely  disturbed  with  this 
!  i  ;age,  failed  to  take  in  her  personal  identity  with  that  clear- 
ness ol  perception  which  was  due  to  its  demands.  Stateliness 
mounted  her  gloomy  throne  upon  the  Billickin's  brow  in  con- 
s  'quence.  And  when  Miss  Twindleton,  in  agitation,  taking 
slock  of  her  trunks  and  packages,  of  which  she  had  seventeen, 
particularly  counted  in  the  Billickin  herself  as  number  eleven, 
the    15.   found  it  necessary  to  repudiate. 

"  Tilings  cannot  too  soon  be  put  upon  the  footing,"  said 
she,  with  a  candour  so  demonstrative  as  to  be  almost  obtrusive, 
"  that  the  person  of  the  'ouse  is  not  a  box  nor  yet  a  bundle, 
nor  yet  a  carpet-bag.  No,  I  am  'ily  obieeged  to  you,  Miss 
Twinkleton,  nor  yet  a  beggar." 

This  last  disclaimer  had  reference  to  Miss  Twinkleton's  dis- 
tractedly pressing  two  and  sixpence  on  her  instead  of  the  cab- 
man. 

Thus  cast  off,  Miss  Twinkleton  wildly  inquired  "  which  gen- 
tleman "  was  to  be  paid?  There  being  two  gentlemen  in  that 
position  (Miss  Twinkleton  having  arrived  with  two  cabs),  each 
gentleman,  on  being  paid,  held  forth  his  two  and  sixpence  on 
the  flat  of  his  open  hand,  and  with  a  speechless  stare  and  a 
dropped  jaw  displayed  his  wrong  to  heaven  and  earth.  Terrified 
by  this  alarming  spectacle,  Miss  Twinkleton  placed  another 
shilling  in  each  hand,  at  the  same  time  appealing  to  the  law  in 
flurried  accents  and  recounting  her  luggage,  this  time  with  the 
two  gentlemen  in,  who  caused  the  total  to  come  out  complicated. 
Meanwhile  the  two  gentlemen,  each  looking  very  hard  at  the 
last  shilling  grumblingly,  as  if  it  might  become  eighteenpence 
if  he  kept  his  eyes  on  it,  descended  the  doorsteps,  ascended 
their  carriages,  and  drove  away,  leaving  Miss  Twinkleton  on  a 
bonnet  box:  in  tears. 

The  Billickin  beheld  this  manifestation  of  weakness  without 
sympathy,  and  gave  directions  for  "a  young  man  to  be  got  in" 
to  wrestle  with  the  luggage.  When  that  gladiator  had  disap- 
peared from  the  arena,  peace  ensued,  and  the  new  lodgers 
limed. 

But  the  Billickin  had  somehow  come  to  the  knowledge  that 
Miss  Twinkleton  kept  a  school.    The  leap  from  that  knowledge 


A    GRITTY  STATE-  OF   THEYGS   COMES    ON.       22I 

to  the  inference  that  Miss  Twinkleton  set  herself  to  teach  her 
something  was  easy.  "But  you  don't  do  it,"  soliloquized  the 
Billickin  ;  "/am  not  your  pupil,  whatever  she,"  meaning  Rosa, 
'•  may  be,  poor  thing  !  " 

Miss  Twinkleton,  em  the  other  hand,  having  changed  her 
dress  and  recoverec/her  spirits,  was  animated  by  a  bland  desire 
to  improve  the  occasion  in  all  ways,  and  to  be  as  serene  a 
model  as  possible.  In  a  happy  compromise  between  her  two 
states  of  existence  she  had  already  become,  with  her  work  bas- 
ket before  her,  the  equably  vivacious  .companion  with  a  slight 
judicious  flavouring  of  information,  when  the  Billickin  an- 
nounced hei  self. 

"  I  will  not  hide  from  you,  ladies,"  said  the  B.,  enveloped  in 
the  shawl  of  state,  "  for  it  is  not  my  character  to  hide,  neither 
my  motives,  nor  my  actions  that  I  take  the  liberty  to  look  in 
upon  you  to  express  a 'ope  that  your  dinner  was  to  your  liking. 
Though  not  Professed  but  Plain,  still  her  wages  should  be  a 
sufficient  object  to  her  to  stimulate  to  soar  above  mere  roast 
and  biled." 

"We  dined  very  well  indeed,"  said  Rosa,  "thank  you." 

"Accustomed,"  said  Miss  Twinkleton,  with  a  gracious  air, 
which  to  the  jealous  ears  of  the  Billickin  seemed  to  add,  "  My 
good  women," — -"  accustomed  to  a  liberal  and  nutritious,  yet 
plain  and  salutary  diet,  we  have  found  no  reason  to  bemoan 
our  absence  from  the  ancient  city  and  the  methodical  house- 
hold in  which  the  quiet  routine  of  our  lot  has  been  hitherto 
cast." 

"  I  did  think  it  well  to  mention  to  my  cook,"  observed  the 
Billickin,  with  a  gush  of  candor,  "  which  I  'ope  you  will  agree 
with,  Miss  Twinkleton,  was  a  right  precaution,  that  the  young 
lady  being  used  to  what  we  should  consider  here  but  poor  diet, 
had  better  be  brought  forward  by  degrees.  For,  a  rush  from 
scanty  feeding  to  generous  feeding,  and  from  what  you  may  call 
messing  to  what  you  may  call  method,  do  require  a  power  of 
constitution,  which  is  not  often  found  in  youth,  particular  when 
undermined  by  boarding-school?" 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  Billickin  now  openly  pitted  herself 
against  Miss  Twinkleton,  as  one  whom  she  had  fully  ascer- 
tained to  be  her  natural  enemy. 

"Your  remarks,"  returned  Miss  Twinkleton,  from  a  remote 
moral  eminence,  "are  well  meant,  I  have  no  doubt;  but  you 
will  permit  me  to  observe  that  they  develop  a  mistaken  view  of 
the  subject,  which  can  only  be  imputed  to  your  extreme  want 
of  accurate  information." 


222  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  My  information,"  retorted  the  Billickin,  throwing  in  an 
extra  syllable  for  the  sake  of  emphasis  at  once  polite  and  pow- 
erful,— "my  information,  Miss  Twinkleton,  were  my  own  exper- 
ience, which  I  believe  is  usually  considered  to  be  good  guidance. 
But  whether  so  or  not,  I  was  put  in  youth  to  a  very  genteel 
boarding-school,  the  mistress  being  no  less  a  lady  than  yourself 
of  about  your  own  age,  or  it  may  be  some  years  younger,  and  a 
poorness  of  blood  flowed  from  the  table  which  has  run  through 
my  life." 

"Very  likely,"  said  Miss  Twinkleton,  still  from  her  distant 
eminence;  "and  very  much  to  be  deplored.  Rosa,  my  dear, 
how  are  you  getting  on  with  your  work  ?  " 

"  Miss  Twinkleton,"  resumed  the  Billickin,  in  a  courtly  man- 
ner, "before  retiring  on  the  Int.  as  a  lady  should,  I  wish  to  ask 
of  yourself  as  a  lady,  whether  I  am  to  consider  that  my  word  is 
doubted  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  aware  on  what  ground  you  cherish  such  a  suppo- 
sition," began  Miss  Twinkleton,  when  the  Billickin  neatly 
stopped  her. 

"  Do  not,  if  you  please,  put  supposition  betwixt  my  lips, 
where  none  such  have  been  imparted  by  myself.  Your  flow  of 
words  is  great,  Miss  Twinkleton,  and  no  doubt  is  expected  from 
you  by  your  pupils,  and  no  doubt  is  considered  worth  the 
money.  No  doubt,  I  am  sure.  But  not  paying  for  flows  of 
words,  and  not  asking  to  be  favoured  with  them  here,  I  wish  to 
repeat  my  question." 

"  If  you  refer  to  the  poverty  of  your  circulation,"  began  Miss 
Twinkleton,  when  again  the  Billickin  neatly  stopped  her. 

"  I  have  used  no  such  expressions." 

"If  you  refer  then  to  the  poorness  of  your  blood." 

"  Brought  upon  me,"  stipulated  the  Billickin,  expressly,  "  at 
a  boarding-school." 

"  Then,"  resumed  Miss  Twinkleton,  "all  I  can  say  is,  that  I 
am  bound  to  believe  on  your  asseveration  that  it  is  very  poor 
indeed.  I  cannot  forebear  adding,  that  if  that  unfortunate  cir- 
cumstance influences  your  conversation,  it  is  much  to  be  la- 
mented, and  it  is  eminently  desirable  that  your  blood  were 
richer.  Rosa,  my  dear,  how  are  you  getting  on  with  your 
work  ?  " 

"  Hem  !  Before  retiring,  Miss,"  proclaimed  the  Billickin  to 
Rosa,  loftily  cancelling  Miss  Twinkleton,  "  1  should  wish  it  to 
be  understood  between  yourself  and  me  that  my  transactions  in 
future  is  with  you  alone.  I  know  no  elderly  lady  here,  Miss, 
none  older  than  yourself." 


A    GRITTY  STATE    OF    THINGS    COMES   OM 


223 


"A  highly  desirable  arrangement,  Rosa,  my  dear,"  observed 
Miss  Twinkleton. 

"  It  is  not,  Miss,"  said  the  Billickin,  with  a  sarcastic  smile, 
"that  I  possess  the  Mill  I  have  heard  of,  in  which  old  single 
ladies  could  be  ground  up  young,  (what  a  gift  it  would  be  to 
some  of  us!)  but  that  I  limit  myself  to  you  totally." 

"When  I  have  any  desire  to  communicate  a  request  to  the 
person  of  the  house,  Rosa,  my  dear,"  observed  Miss  Twinkle- 
ton,  with  majestic  cheerfulness,  "I  will  make  it  known  to  you, 
and  you  will  kindly  undertake,  I  am  sure,  that  it  is  conveyed  to 
the  proper  quarter." 

"  Good  evening.  Miss,"  said  the  Billickin,  at  once  affectionately 
and  distantly.  "  Being  alone  in  my  eyes.  I  wish  you  good  evening 
with  best  wishes,  and  do  not  find  myself  drove,  I  am  truly 'appy 
to  say,  into  expressing  my  contempt  for  any  indiwidual,  unfor- 
tunately for  yourself,  belonging  to  you." 

The  Billickin  gracefully  withdrew  with  this  parting  speech, 
and  from  that  time  Rosa  occupied  the  restless  position  of  shut- 
tlecock between  these  two  battledores.  Nothing  could  be  done 
without  a  smart  match  being  played  out.  Thus,  on  the  daily  ris- 
ing question  of  dinner,  Miss  Twinkleton  would  say,  the  three 
being  present  together, — 

"  Perhaps,  my  love,  you  will  consult  with  the  person  of  the 
house  whether  she  can  procure  us  a  lamb's  fry  ;  or  failing  that, 
a  roast  fowl." 

On  which  the  Billickin  would  retort  (Rosa  not  having 
spoken  a  word),  "  If  you  was  better  accustomed  to  butcher's 
meat,  Miss,  you  would  not  entertain  the  idea  of  a  lamb's  fry. 
Firstly,  because  lambs  has  long  been  sheep,  and  secondly,  be- 
cause there  is  such  things  as  killing-days,  and  there  is  not.  As 
to  roast  fowls,  Miss,  why  you  must  be  quite  surfeited  with  roast 
fowls,  letting  alone  your  buying,  when  you  market  for  yourself, 
the  agedest  of  poultry,  with  the  scaliest  of  legs,  quite  as  if  you 
was  accustomed  to  picking  'em  out  for  cheapness.  Try  a  little 
inwention,  Miss.  Use  yourself  to  'ousekeeping  a  bit.  Come 
now,  think  of  somethink  else." 

To  this  encouragement,  offered  with  the  indulgent  toleration 
of  a  wise  and  liberal  expert,  Miss  Twinkleton  would  rejoin, 
reddening, — 

"  Or,  my  dear,  you  might  propose  to  the  person  of  the  house 
a  duck." 

"Well,  Miss!"  the  Billickin  would  exclaim  (still  no  word 
being  spoken  by  Rosa),  "you  do  surprise  me  when  you  speak 
of  ducks  !     Not  to  mention  that  they  're  getting  out  of  season 


224  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DKOOD. 

and  very  dear,  it  really  strikes  to  my  heart  to  see  you  have  a 
duck,  for  the  breast,  which  is  the  only  delicate  cuts  in  a  duck, 
always  goes  in  a  direction  which  I  cannot  imagine  where,  and 
your  own  plate  comes  down  so  miserably  skin-and-bony  !  Try 
again,  .Miss.  Think  more  of  yourself  and  less  of  others.  A 
dish  of  sweetbreads  now,  or  a  bit  of  mutton.  Somethink  at 
which  you  can  get  your  equal  chance." 

Occasionally  the  game  would  wax  very  brisk  indeed,  and 
would  be  kept  up  with  a  smartness  rendering  such  an  encoun- 
ter as  this  quite  tame.  But  the  Billicken  almost  invariably 
made  by  far  the  higher  score,  and  would  come  in  with  side  hits 
of  the  most  unexpected  and  extraordinary  description,  when  she 
seemed  without  a  chance. 

All  this  did  not  improve  the  gritty  state  of  things  in  London, 
or  the  air  that  London  had  acquired  in  Rosa's  eyes  of  waiting 
for  something  that  never  came.  Tired  of  working  and  convers- 
ing with  Miss  Twinkleton,  she  suggested  working  and  reading  ; 
to  which  Miss  Twinkleton  readily  assented,  as  an  admirable 
reader,  of  tried  powers.  But  Rosa  soon  made  the  discovery 
that  Miss  Twinkleton  didn't  read  fairly.  She  cut  the  love 
scenes,  interpolated  passages  in  praise  of  female  celibacy,  and 
was  guilty  of  other  glaring  pious  frauds.  As  an  instance  in 
point,  take  the  glowing  passage.  "  '  Ever  dearest  and  best 
adored,'  said  Edward,  clasping  the  dear  head  to  his  breast,  and 
drawing  the  silken  hair  through  his  caressing  fingers,  from  which 
he  suffered  it  to  fail  like  golden  rain, — '  ever  dearest  and  best 
adored,  let  us  fly  from  the  unsympathetic  world  and  the  sterile 
coldness  of  the  stony-hearted,  to  the  rich  warm  Paradise  ot 
Trust  and  Love."  "  Miss  Twinkleton's  fraudulent  version 
tamely  ran  thus  :  "  '  Ever  engaged  to  me,  with  the  consent  ot 
our  parents  on  both  sides,  and  the  approbation  of  the  silver- 
haired  rector  of  the  district,'  said  Edward,  respectfully  raising  to 
his  lips  the  taper  fingers  so  skilful  in  embroidery,  tpmbour  cro- 
chet, and  other  truly  feminine  ai  Is  ;  'let  me  call  on  thy  papa  ere 
to-morrow's  dawn  has  sunk  into  the  west,  and  propose  a  subur- 
ban establishment,  lowly  it  may  be,  but  within  our  means,  where 
he  will  be  always  welcome  as  an  evening  guest,  and  where 
every  arrangement  shall  invest  economy  and  constant  inter- 
change of  scholastic  acquirements  with  the  attributes  of  the  min 
istering  angel  to  domestic  bliss.'  " 

As  the  days  crept  on  and  nothing  happened,  the  neighbours 
began  to  say  that  the  pretty  girl  at  Billickin's,  who  looked  so 
wistfully  and  so  much  out  of  the  gritty  windows  of  the  drawing- 
room,  seemed  to  be  losing  her  spirits.    The  pretty  girl  might  have 


THE  DAWN  AGAIN. 


22$ 


lost  them  but  for  the  accident  of  lighting  on  some  books  of 
voyagers  and  sea-adventure.  As  a  compensation  against  their 
romance,  Miss  Twinkleton,  leading  aloud,  make  the  most  of  all 
the  latitudes  and  longitudes,  bearings,  winds,  currents,  of] 
and  other  statistics  (which  she  felt  to  be  none  the  less  improving 
because  they  expressed  nothing  whatever  to  her)  ;  while  Rosa, 
listening  intently,  made  the  most  of  what  was  nearest  to  her 
heart.     So  they  both  did  better  than  before. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


The  Dawn  Again. 

LTHOUGH  Mr.  Crisparkle  and  John  Jasper  met 
daily  under  the  Cathedral  roof,  nothing  at  any  time 
passed  between  them  bearing  reference  to  Edwin 
Drood  after  the  time,  more  than  half  a  year  gone  by, 
when  Jasper  mutely  showed  the  Minor  Canon  the  conclusion 
and  the  resolution  entered  in  his  Diary.  It  is  not  likely  that 
they  ever  met,  though  so  often,  without  the  thoughts  of  each 
reverting  to  the  subject.  It  is  not  likely  that  they  ever  met, 
though  so  often,  without  a  sensation  on  the  part  of  each  that 
the  other  was  a  perplexing  secret  to  him.  Jasper  as  the  de- 
nouncer and  pursuer  of  Neville  Landless,  and  Mr.  Crisparkle 
as  his  consistent  advocate  and  protector,  must  at  least  have 
stood  sufficiently  in  opposition  to  have  speculated  with  keen 
interest  on  the  steadiness  and  next  direction  of  the  others  de- 
signs.    But  neither  ever  broached  the  theme. 

Ealse  pretence  not  being  in  the  Minor  Canon's  nature,  he 
doubtless  displayed  openly  that  he  would  at  any  time  have  re- 
vived the  subject,  and  even  desired  to  discuss  it.  The  deter- 
mined reticence  of  Jasper,  however,  was  not  to  be  so  approached. 
Impassive,  moody,  solitary,  resolute,  so  concentrated  on  one 
""idea,  and  on  its  attendant  fixed  purpose-,  that  he  would  share  it 
^-^tfTho  fellow-creature,  he  lived  apart  from  human  life.  Con- 
stantly exercising  an  Art  which  brought  him  into  mechanical 
harmony  with  others,  and  which  could  not  have  been  pursued 
unless  he  and  they  had  been  in  the  nicest  mechanical  relations 
and  unison,  it  is  curious  to  consider  that  the  spirit  of  the  man 
was  in  moral  accordance  or  interchange  with  nothing  around 


226  TJTS  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

him.  This,  indeed,  he  had  confided  to  his  lost  nephew  before 
the  occasion  for  his  present  inflexibility  arose. 

That  he  must  know  of  Rosa's  abrupt  departure,  and  that  he 
must  divine  its  cause,  was  not  to  be  doubted.  Did  he  suppose 
that  he  had  terrified  her  into  silence,  or  did  he  suppose  that  she 
had  imparted  to  any  one — to  Mr.  Crisparkle  himself,  for  in- 
stance— the  particulars  of  his  last  interview  with  her  ?  Mr. 
Crisparkle  could  not  determine  this  in  his  mind.  Fie  could  not 
but  admit,  however,  as  a  just  man,  that  it  was  not,  of  itself,  a 
Crime  to  fall  in  love  with  Rosa,  any  more  than  it  was  a  crime  to 
offer  to  set  love  above  revenge. 

The  dreadful  suspicion  of  Jasper,  which  Rosa  was  so  shocked 
to  have  received  into  her  imagination,  appeared  to  have  no  har- 
bor in  Mr.  Crisparkle' s.  If  it  ever  haunted  Helena's  thoughts, 
or  Neville's,  neither  gave  it  one  spoken  word  of  utterance. 
Mr.  Crewgious  took  no  pains  to  conceal  his  implacable  dislike 
of  Jasper,  yet  he  never  referred  it,  however  distantly,  to  such  a 
source.  But  he  was  a  reticent  as  well  as  an  eccentric  man  ; 
and  he  made  no  mention  of  a  certain  evening  when  he  warmed 
his  hands  at  the  Gate  House  fire,  and  looked  steadily  down  up- 
on a  certain  heap  of  torn  and  miry  clothes  upon  the  floor. 

Drowsy  Cloisterham,  whenever  it  awoke  to  a  passing  recon- 
sideration of  a  story  above  six  months  old,  and  dismissed  by  the 
bench  of  magistrates,  was  pretty  equally  divided  in  opinion 
whether  John  Jasper's  beloved  nephew  had  been  killed  by  his 
treacherously  passionate  rival,  or  in  an  open  struggle  ;  or  had, 
for  his  own  purposes,  spirited  himself  away.  It  then  lifted  up 
its  head  to  notice  that  the  bereaved  Jasper  was  still  ever  de- 
voted to  discovery  and  revenge  ;  and  then  dozed  off  again. 
This  was  the  condition  of  matters,  all  round,  at  the  period  to 
which  the  present  history  has  now  attained. 

The  Cathedral  doors  have  closed  for  the  night,  and  the  Choit 
Master,  on  a  short  leave  of  absence  for  two  or  three  services, 
sets  his  face  towards  London.  He  travels  thither  by  the  means 
by  which  Rosa  travelled,  and  arrives,  as  Rosa  arrived,  on  a  hot, 
dusty  evening. 

His  travelling  baggage  is  easily  carried  in  his  hand,  and  he 
repairs  with  it,  on  foot,  to  a  hybrid  hotel  in  a  little  square  be- 
hind Aldersgate  Street,  near  the  General  Post-Oftice.  It  is 
hotel,  boarding-house,  or  lodging  house  at  its  visitor's  option. 
It  announces  itself  in  the  new  Railway  Advertisers,  as  a  novel 
enterprise  timidly  beginning  to  spring  up.  It  bashfully,  almost 
apologetically,  gives  the  traveller  to  understand  that  it  does  not 
expect  him,  on  the  good  old  constitutional  hotel  plan,  to  order 


THE   DAWN  AGAIN. 


227 


A  pint  of  sweet  blacking  for  his  drinking,  and  throw  it  away; 
but  insinuates  that  he  may  have  his  boots  blacked  instead  of  his 
stomach,  and  maybe  also  have  bed,  breakfast,  attendance,  and 
a  porter  up  all  night,  for  a  certain  lived  charge.  From  these 
and  similar  premises  many  true  Britons  in  the  lowest  spirits 
deduce  that  the  times  are  levelling  times,  except  in  the  article 
of  high  roads,  of  which  there  will  shortly  be  not  one  in  Eng- 
land. 

He  eats  without  appetite,  and  soon  goes  forth  again.  East- 
ward,  and  still  eastward  through  the  stale  streets,  he  takes  his 
way,  until  he  reaches  his  destination  ;  a  miserable  court,  speci- 
ally miserable  among  many  such. 

He  ascends  a  broken  staircase,  opens  a  door,  looks  into  a 
dark,  stifling  room,  and  says,  "Are  you  alone  here  ?  " 

"  Alone,  deary  ;  worse  luck  for  me  and  better  for  you,"  re- 
plies a  croaking  voice.  "  Come  in,  come  in,  whoever  you  be  ; 
I  can't  see  you  till  I  light  a  match,  yet  I  seem  to  know  the 
sound  of  your  speaking.     I  am   acquainted  with  you,  ain't  I?" 

"  Light  your  match,  and  try." 

"So  I  will,  deary,  so  I  will;  but  my  hand  that  shakes,  as  I 
can't  lay  it  on  a  match  all  in  a  moment.  And  1  cough  so,  that, 
put  my  matches  where  I  may,  I  nevei*  find  'em  there.  They 
jump  and  start,  as  I  cough  and  cough,  like  live  things.  Are 
you  off  a  voyage,  deary  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Not  sea-faring  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Well,  there's  land  customers  and  there's  water  customers, 
I'm  a  mother  to  both.  Different  from  Jack  Chinaman  t'  other 
side  the  court.  He  ain't  a  father  to  neither.  It  ain't  in  him. 
And  he  ain't  got  the  true  secret  of  mixing,  though  he  charges  as 
much  as  me  that  has,  and  more  if  he  can  get  it.  Here's  a 
match,  and  now  where's  the  candle  ?  If  my  cough  takes  me.  I 
shall  cough  out  twenty  matches  afore  I  gets  a  light." 

But  she  finds  the  candle,  and  lights  it  before  the  cough  comes 
on.  It  seizes  her  in  the  moment  of  success,  and  she  sits  down 
rocking  herself  to  and  fro,  and  gasping  at  intervals, — "  O,  my 
lungs  is  awful  bad,  my  lungs  is  wore  away  to  cabbage-nets!" 
until  the  fit  is  over.  During  its  continuance  she  has  had  no 
power  of  sight,  or  any  other  power  not  absorbed  in  the  strug- 
gle ;  but  as  it  leaves  her,  she  begins  to  strain  her  eyes,  and  as 
soon  as  she  is  able  to  articulate,  she  cries,  staring  : 

"  Why,  it's  you  !  " 

"Are  you  so  surprised  to  see  me  ?" 


228  Tim  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  I  thought  I  never  should  have  seen  you  again,  deary.  I 
thought  you  was  dead  and  gone  to  Heaven." 

••Why?" 

"I  didn't  suppose  you  could  have  kept  away,  alive,  so  long, 
from  the  poor  old  soul  with  the  real  receipt  for  mixing  it.  And 
you  are  in  mourning,  too.  Why  d'dn't  you  come  and  have  a 
pipe  or  two  of  comfort  ?  Did  they  leave  you  money,  perhaps, 
and  so  you  didn't  want  comfort?" 

"No!" 

"  Who  was  they  as  died,  deary  ?" 

"  A  relative." 

"  Died  of  what,  lovey  ?  " 

"  Probably,  Death." 

"We  are  short  to-night !"  cried  the  woman,  with  a  propitia- 
tory laugh.  "  Short  and  snappish  we  are  !  But  we're  out  of 
sorts  for  want  of  a  smoke.  We've  got  the  all-overs,  haven't  us, 
deary  ?  But  this  is  the  place  to  cure  'em  in  ;  this  is  the  place 
where  the  all-overs  is  smoked  off!" 

"  You  may  make  ready  then,"  replies  the  visitor,  "  as  soon  as 
you  like." 

He  divests  himself  of  his  shoes,  loosens  his  cravat,  and  lies 
across  the  foot  of  the  squalid  bed,  with  his  head  resting  on  his 
left  hand. 

"  Now  you  begin  to  look  like  yourself,"  says  the  woman,  ap- 
provingly. "Now  1  begin  to  know  my  old  customer  indeed  ! 
Been  trying  to  mix  for  yourself,  this  long  time,  poppet  ?  " 

"I  have  been  taking  it  now  and  then  in  my  own  way." 

"  Never  take  it  your  own  way.  It  ain't  good  for  trade,  and  it 
ain't  good  for  you.  Where's  my  ink-bottle,  and  where's  my 
thimble,  and  where's  my  little  spoon  ?  He's  going  to  take  it 
in  an  artful  form  now,  my  deary  dear  !  " 

Entering  on  her  process,  and  beginning  to  bubble  and  blow 
at  the  faint  spark  enclosed  in  the  hollow  of  her  hands,  she 
speaks  from  time  to  time  in  a  tone  of  snuffling  satisfaction, 
without  leaving  off.  When  he  speaks,  he  does  so  without  look- 
ing at  her,  and  as  if  his  thoughts  were  already  roaming  away  by 
anticipation. 

"I've  got  a  pretty  good  many  smokes  ready  for  you,  first  and 
last,  haven't  I,  chuckey?" 

"  A  good  many." 

"When  you  first  come,  you  was  quite  new  to  it;  warn't 
ye  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  wa    ea  ily    lisposed  of,  then." 


THE  DAWN  AGAIN.  229 

"  But  you  got  on  in  the  world,  and  was  able  by  and  by  to 
take  your  pipe  with  the  best  of  'em,  warn't  ye  ?  " 

"  Ay.      And  the  worst." 

"  It's  just  ready  for  you.  What  a  sweet  singer  you  was  when 
you  first  come  !  Used  to  drop  your  head,  and  sing  yourself  off, 
like  a  bird  !      It's  ready  for  you  now,  deary." 

He  takes  it  from  her  with  great  care,  and  puts  the  mouth- 
piece to  his  lips.  She  seats  herself  beside  him,  ready  to  refill 
the  pipe.  After  inhaling  a  few  whiffs  in  silence,  he  doubtingly 
accosts  her  with, — 

"  Is  it  as  potent  as  it  used  to  be  ?  " 

**.  What  do  you  speak  of,  deary  ?  " 

"  What  should  I  speak  of,  but  what  I  have  in  my  mouth  ?  " 

"  It's  just  the  same.     Always  the  identical  same." 

"It  doesn't  taste  so.     And  it's  slower." 

"  You've  got  more  used  to  it,  you  see." 

"  That  may  be  the  cause,  certainly.  Look  here."  He  stops, 
becomes  dreamy,  and  seems  to  forget  that  he  has  invited  her 
attention.     She  bends  over  him,  and  speaks  in  his  ear. 

"I'm  attending  to  you.  Says  you  just  now,  look  here.  Says 
I  now,  I'm  attending  to  ye.  We  was  talking  just  before  of 
your  being  used  to  it." 

"  I  know  all  that.  I  was  only  thinking.  Look  here.  Sup- 
pose you  had  something  in  your  mind  ;  something  you  were 
going  to  do." 

"  Yes,  deary  ;  something  I  was  going  to  do?  " 

"  But  had  not  quite  determined  to  do." 

"  Yes,  deary." 

"  Might  or  might  not  do,  you  understand." 

"Yes."  With  the  point  of  a  needle  she  stirs  the  contents  of 
the  bowl. 

"  Should  you  do  it  in  your  fancy  when  you  were  lying  here 
doing  this  ?  " 

She  nods  her  head.      "  Over  and  over  again." 

''  Just  like  me  !  I  did  it  over  and  over  again.  I  have  done 
it  hundreds  of  thousands  of  time  in  this  room." 

"  It"s  to  be  hoped  it  was  pleasant  to  do,   deary." 

"  It  was  pleasant  to  do  !  " 

He  says  this  with  a  savage  air,  and  a  spring  or  start  at  her. 
Quite  unmoved,  she  retouches  and  replenishes  the  contents  of 
the  bowl  with  her  little  spatula.  Seeing  her  intent  upon  the  oc- 
cupation, he  sinks  into  his  former  attitude. 

"  It  was  a  journey,  a  difficult  and  dangerous  journey.  That 
was  the  subject  in  my  mind.     A  hazardous  and  perilous  jour- 


230  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

ney,  over  abysses  where  a   slip  would   be  destruction.     Look 
down,  look  down  !     You  see  what  lies  at  the  bottom  there?" 

He  has  darted  forward  to  say  it,  and  to  point  at  the  ground, 
as  though  at  some  imaginary  object  far  beneath.  The  woman 
looks  at  him.  as  his  spasmodic  face  approaches  close  to  hers, 
and  not  at  his  pointing.  She  seems  to  know  what  the  influence 
of  her  perfect  quietude  will  be  ;  if  so,  she  has  not  miscalculated 
it,  for  be  subsides  again. 

"  Well  ;    1  have  told  you,  I  did  it,  here,  hundreds*  of  times. 

What  do  I  say?     1  did  it  millions  and  billions  of  times.      1  did 

j  it  so  often,  and  through  such  vast  expanses  of  time,  that  when 

\  it  was  really  done,  it  seemed  not  worth  the  doing,  it  was  done 

so  soon." 

"  That's  the  journey  you  have  been  away  upon  ?  "  she  quiet- 
ly remarks. 

He  glares  at  her  as  he  smokes  ;  and  then,  his  eyes  becoming 
filmy,  answers:   "That's  the  journey." 

Silence  ensues.  His  eyes  are  sometimes  closed  and  some- 
times open.  The  woman  sits  beside  him,  very  attentive  to  the 
pipe,  which  is  all  the  while  at  his  lips. 

"  I'll  warrant,"  she  observes,  when  he  has  been  looking  fixed- 
ly at  her  for  some  consecutive  moments,  with  a  singular  ap- 
pearance in  his  eyes  of  seeming  to  see  her  a  long  way  off,  in- 
stead of  so  near  him, — "  I'll  warrant  you  made  the  journey  in  a 
many  ways  when  you  made  it  so  often." 
"  No,  always  in  one  way." 
"  Always  in  the  same  way  ?  " 
"Ay." 

"  In  the  way  in  which  it  was  really  made  at  last?" 
"  Ay." 

"  And  always  took  the  same  pleasure  in  harping  on  it  ?  " 
"Ay." 

For  the  time  he  appears  unequal  to  any  other  reply  than 
this  lazy  monosyllabic  assent.  Probably  to  assure  herself  that 
it  is  not  the  assent  of  a  mere  automaton  she  reverses  the  form 
of  her  next  sentence. 

"  Did  you  never  get  tired  of  it,  deary,  and  try  to  call  up  some- 
thing else  for  a  change  ?  " 

He  struggles  into  a  sitting  posture,  and  retorts  upon  hei  . 
"What  do  you  mean?  What  did  I  want?  What  did  I  come 
for  ?  " 

She  gently  lays  him  back  again,  and,  before  returning  him 
the  instrument  he  has  dropped,  revives  the  fire  in  it  with  her 
own  breath  ;  then  says  to  him  coaxingly, — 


THE  DAWN  AGAIN. 


231 


"  Sure,  sure,  sure  !  Yes,  yes,  yes  !  Now  I  go  along  with 
you.  You  was  too  quick  for  me.  I  see  now.  You  come 
o'  purpose  to  take  the  journey.  Why,  I  might  have  known  it, 
through  its  standing  by  you  so." 

He  answers  first  with  a  laugh,  and  then  with  a  passionate 
setting  of  his  teeth:  "Yes,  I  came  on  purpose.  When  I 
could  not  bear  my  life  I  came  to  get  the  relief,  and  I  got  it. 
It  was  one!  It  was  one!"  This  repetition  with  extra- 
ordinary vehemence,  and  the  snarl  of  a  wolf. 

She  observes  him  very  cautiously,  as  though  mentally  feeling 
her  way  to  her  next  remark.  It  is:  "There  was  a  fellow- 
traveller,  deary." 

"Ha  ha  ha!"  He  breaks  into  a  ringing  laugh,  or  rather 
yell. 

"To  think,"  he  cries,  "how  often  fellow-traveller,  and  yet 
not  know  it !  To  think  how  many  times  he  went  the  journey, 
and  never  saw  the  road  !  " 

The  woman  kneels  upon  the  floor,  with  her  arms  crossed 
on  the  coverlet  of  the  bed,  close  by  him,  and  her  chin  upon 
them.  In  this  crouching  attitude  she  watches  him.  The  pipe 
is  falling  from  his  mouth.  She  puts  it  back,  and,  laying  her 
hand  upon  his  chest,  moves  him  slightly  from  side  to  side. 
Upon  that  he  speaks,  as  if  she  had  spoken. 

"  Yes  !  1  always  made  the  journey  first,  before  the  changes 
of  colours,  and  the  great  landscapes,  and  glittering  processions 
began.  They  couldn't  begin  till  it  was  off  my  mind.  I  had 
no  room  till  then  for  anything  else." 

Once  more  he  lapses  into  silence.  Once  more  she  lays  her 
hand  upon  his  chest,  and  moves  him  slightly  to  and  fro,  as  a 
cat  might  stimulate  a  half-slain  mouse.  Once  more  he  speaks, 
as  if  she  had  spoken. 

"  What  ?  I  told  you  so.  When  it  comes  to  be  real  at  last, 
it  is  so  short  that  it  seems  unreal  for  the  first  time.     Hark  ! " 

"  Yes,  deary.     I'm  listening." 

"  Time  and  place  are  both  at  hand." 

He  is  on  his  feet,  speaking  in  a  whisper,  as  if  in  the  dark. 

"Time,  place,  and  fellow-traveller,"  she  suggests," adopting 
his  tone,  and  holding  him  softly  by  the  arm. 

"  How  could  the  time  be  at  hand  unless  the  fellow-traveller 
was  ?     Hush  !     The  journey's  made.     It's  over." 

"  So  soon  ?  " 

"That's  what  I  said  to  you.  'So  soon.  Wait  a  little.  This 
is  a  vision.  I  shall  sleep  it  off.  It  has  been  too  short  and 
easy.     I  must  have  a  better  vision  than  this ;  this  is  the  poor- 


232  THE  MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  BROOD. 

est  of  all.  No  struggle,  no  consciousness  of  peril,  no  entreaty. 
— and  yet  I  never  saw  that  before."     With  a  start. 

"  Saw  what,  deary  ?  " 

"Look  at  it  !  Look  what  a  poor,  mean,  miserable  thing  it 
is!     That  must  be  real.      It's  over!" 

He  has  accompanied  this  incoherence  with  some  wild,  un- 
meaning gestures  ;  but  they  trail  off  into  the  progressive  in- 
action of  stupor,  and  he  lies  a  log  upon  the  bed. 

The  woman,  however,  is  still  inquisitive.  With  a  repetition 
of  her  cat-like  action,  she  slightly  stirs  his  body  again,  and 
listens  ;  stirs  again,  and  listens  ;  whispers  to  it,  and  listens. 
Finding  it  past  all  rousing  for  the  time,  she  slowly  gets  upon 
her  feet,  with  an  air  of  disappointment,  and  flicks  the  face  with 
the  back  of  her  hand  in  turning  from  it. 

But  she  goes  no  farther  away  from  it  than  the  chair  upon  the 
hearth.  She  sits  in  it,  with  an  elbow  on  one  of  its  arms,  and 
her  chin  upon  her  hand,  intent  upon  him.  "I  heaid  ye  say 
once,"  she  croaks  under  her  breath. — "  I  heard  ye  say  once, 
when  I  was  lying  where  you're  lying,  and  you  were  making 
your  speculations  upon  me,  'Unintelligible  !'  I  heard  you  say 
so,  of  two  more  than  me.  But  don't  ye  be  too  sure  always  ; 
don't  ye  be  too  sure,  beauty  !" 

Unwinking,  catlike,  and  intent,  she  presently  adds:  "Not 
so  potent  as  it  once  was  ?  Ah  !  Perhaps  not  at  first.  You 
may  be  more  right  there.  Practice  makes  perfect.  I  may 
have  learned  the  secret  how  to  make  ye  talk,  deary." 

He  talks  no  more,  whether  or  no.  Twitching  in  an  ugly 
way  from  time  to  time,  both  as  to  his  face  and  limbs,  he  lies 
heavy  and  silent.  The  wretched  candle  burns  down  ;  the 
woman  takes  iLs  expiring  end  between  her  fingers,  lights  another 
at  it.  crams  the  guttering,  frying  morsel  deep  into  the  candle- 
stick, and  rams  it  home  with  the  new  candle,  as  if  she  were 
loading  some  ill-savoured  and  unseemly  weapon  of  witchcraft  ; 
the  new  candle,  in  its  turn,  burns  down  ;  and  still  he  lies  in- 
sensible. At  length,  what  remains  of  the  last  candle  is  blown 
out,  and  daylight  looks  into  the  room. 

It  has  not  looked  very  long,  when  he  sits  up,  chilled  and 
shaking,  slowly  recovers  consciousness  of  where  he  is,  and 
makes  himself  ready  to  depart.  The  woman  receives  what  he 
pays  her  with  a.  grateful  "  Bless  ye,  bless  ye,  deary !  "  and 
seems,  tired  out,  to, begin  making  herself  ready  for  sleep  as  he 
leaves  the  room. 

But  seeming  may  be  false  or  true.  It  is  false  in  this  case, 
for,  the  moment  the  stairs  have  ceased  to  creak  under  his  tread, 


THE  DAWN  AGAIN. 


233 


she  glides  after  him,  muttering  emphatically,  "  I'd  not  miss  ye 
twice  ! " 

There  is  no  egress  from  the  court  but  by  its  entrance.  Willi 
a  weird  peep  from  the  doorway  she  watches  for  his  looking 
back.  He  does  not  look  back  before  disappearing,  with  a 
wavering  step.  She  follows  him,  peeps  from  the  court,  sees 
him  still  faltering  on  without  looking  back,  and  holds  him  in 
view. 

He  repairs  to  the  back  of  Aldersgate  Street,  where  a  door 
immediately  opens  to  his  knocking.  She  crouches  in  another 
doorway,  watching  that  one,  and  easily  comprehending  that  he 
puts  up  temporarily  at  that  house.  Her  patience  is  unex- 
hausted by  hours.  For  sustenance  she  can,  and  does,  buy 
bread  within  a  hundred  yards,  and  milk  as  it  is  carried  past  her. 

He  comes  forth  again  at  noon,  having  changed  his  dress,  but 
carrying  nothing  in  his  hand,  and  having  nothing  carried  for 
him.  He  is  not  going  back  into  the  country,  therefore  just 
yet.  She  follows  him  a  little  way,  hesitates,  instantaneously 
turns  confidently,  and  goes  straight  into  the  house  he  has 
quitted. 

"  Is  the  gentleman  from  Cloister.ham  in-doors  ?  " 

"Just  gone  out." 

"  Unlucky.  When  does  the  gentleman  return  to  Cloister- 
ham  ?  " 

"  At  six  this  evening." 

"Bless  ye  and  thank  ye.  May  the  Lord  prosper  a  business 
where  a  civil  question,  even  from  a  poor  soul,  is  so  civilly 
answered  !  " 

"I'll  not  miss  ye  twice!"  repeats  the  poor  soul  in  the  street, 
and  not  so  civilly.  "  I  lost  ye  last  where  that  omnibus  you 
got  into  nigh  your  journey's  end  plied  betwixt  the  station  and 
the  place.  I  wasn't  so  much  as  certain  that  you  even  went 
right  on  to  the  place.  Now  1  know  ye  did.  My  gentleman 
from  Cloisterham,  I'll  be  there  before  ye  and  bide  your  com- 
ing.    I've  sworn  my  oath  that  I'll  not  miss  ye  twice  !  " 

Accordingly,  that  same  evening  the  poor  soul  stands  in 
Cloisterham,  High  Street,  looking  at  the  many  quaint  gables 
of  the  Nuns'  House,  and  getting  through  the  time  as  she  best 
can  until  nine  o'clock;  at  which  hour  she  has  reason  to  sup- 
pose that  the  arriving  omnibus  passengers  may  have  some 
interest  for  her.  The  friendly  darkness,  at  that  hour,  renders 
it  easy  for  her  to  ascertain  whether  this  be  so  or  not  ;  and  it  is 
so,  for  the  passenger  not  to  be  missed  twice  arrives  among  the 
rest. 


234  Tim  mystery  of  edwin  drood. 

"Now,  let  me  see  what  becomes  of  you.     Go  on  !" 

An  observation  addressed  to  the  air.  And  yet  it  might  be 
addressed  to  the  passenger,  so  compliantly  does  he  go  on  along 
the  High  Street  until  lie  comes  to  an  arched  gateway,  at  which 
he  unexpectedly  vanishes.  The  poor  soul  quickens  her  pace  ; 
is  swift,  and  close  upon  him  entering  under  the  gateway  ;  but 
only  sees  a  postern  staircase  on  one  side  of  it,  and  on  the 
Other  side  an  ancient  vaulted  room,  in  which  a  large-headed, 
gray-haired  gentleman  is  writing,  under  the  odd  circumstances 
of  sitting  open  to  the  thoroughfare  and  eyeing  all  who  pass,  as 
if  he  were  toll-taker  of  the  gateway  ;  though  the  way  is  free. 

"  Halloa  !  "  he  cries  in  a  low  voice,  seeing  her  brought  to  a 
stand-still  :  "  who  are  you  looking  for?  " 

"  There  Was  a  gentleman  passed  in  here  this  minute,  sir." 

'•  Of  course  there  was.      What  do  you  want  with  him  ?  " 

"  Where  do  he  live,  deary  ?  " 

"  Live  ?     Up  the  staircase." 

"  Bless  ye  !     Whisper.     What's  his  name,  deary  ?  " 

"  Surname  Jasper,  Christian  name  John.  Mr.  John  Jas- 
per." 

"  Has  he  a  calling,  good  gentleman?  " 

"  Calling  ?     Yes.     Sings  in  the  Choir." 

"  In  the  spire  ?  " 

"  Choir." 

"What's  that?" 

Mr.  Datchery  rises  from  his  papers,  and  comes  to  his 
door-step.  "Do  you  know  what  a  cathedral  is?"  he  asks 
jocosely. 

The  woman  nods. 

"What  is  it?" 

She  looks  puzzled,  casting  about  in  her  mind  to  find  a  defi- 
nition, when  it  occurs  to  her  that  it  is  easier  to  point  out  the 
substantial  object  itself,  massive  against  the  dark  blue  sky  and 
the  early  stars. 

"  That's  the  answer.  Go  in  there  at  seven  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, and  you  may  see  Mr.  John  Jasper,  and  hear  him  too." 

"  Thank  ye  !     Thank  ye  !  " 

The  burst  of  triumph  in  which  she  thanks  him  does  not  es- 
cape the  notice  of  the  single  buffer  of  an  easy  temper  living 
idly  on  his  means.  He  glances  at  her  ;  clasps  his  hands  behind 
him,  as  the  wont  of  such  buffers  is  ;  and  lounges  along  the 
echoing  precincts  at  her  side. 

"Or,"  he  suggests,  with  a  backward  hitch  of  his  head,  "you 
can  go  up  at  once  to  Mr.  Jasper's  rooms  there." 


THE   DAWN  AGAIN. 


235 


The  woman  eyes  him  with  a  cunning  smile,  and  shakes  her 
head. 

"  Oh  !     You  don't  want  to  speak  to  him  ?  " 

She  repeats  her  dumb  reply,  and  forms  with  her  lips  a  sound- 
less "No." 

"  You  c:\x\  admire  him  at  a  distance  three  times  a  day,  when- 
ever you  like.      It's  a  long  way  to  come  for  that,  though." 

The  woman  looks  up  quickly.  If  Mr.  Datchery  thinks  she 
is  to  be  so  induced  to  declare  where  she  comes  from,  he  is  of 
a  much  easier  temper  than  she  is.  But  she  acquits  him  of  such 
an  artful  thought,  as  he  lounges  along,  like  the  chartered  bore 
of  the  city,  with  his  uncovered  gray  hair  blowing  about,  and  his 
purposeless  hands  rattling  the  loose  money  in  the  pocket  of  his 
trousers. 

The  chink  of  the  money  has  an  attraction  for  her  greedy  ears. 
"Wouldn't  you  help  me  to  pay  for  my  travellers'  lodging,  dear 
gentleman,  and  to  pay  my  way  along  ?  I  am  a  poor  soul,  I 
am  indeed,  and  troubled  with  a  grievous  cough." 

"  You  know  the  Travellers'  lodging,  I  perceive,  and  are 
making  directly  for  it,"  is  Mr.  Datchery's  bland  comment,  still 
rattling  his  loose  money.  "  Been  here  often,  my  good 
woman  ?  " 

"  Once  in  all  my  life." 

"Ay,  ay?" 

They  had  arrived  at  the  entrance  to  the  Monk's  Vineyard. 
An  appropriate  remembrance,  presenting  an  exemplary  model 
for  imitation,  is  revived  in  the  woman's  mind  by  the  sight  of  the 
place.     She  stops  at  the  gate,  and  says  energetically, — 

"  By  this  token,  though  you  mayn't  believe  it,  That  a  young 
gentleman  gave  me  three  and  sixpence  as  I  was  coughing  my 
breath  away  on  this  very  grass.  I  asked  him  for  three  and 
sixpence,  and  he  gave  it  me." 

"Wasn't  it  a  little  cool  to  name  your  sum?"  hints  Mr. 
Datchery.  "  Isn't  it  customary  to  leave  the  amount  open  ? 
Mightn't  it  have  had  the  appearance,  to  the  young  gentleman, 
only  the  appearance,  that  he  was  rather  dictated  to  ?  " 

"  Look'ee  here,  deary,"  she  replies,  in  a  confidential  and 
persuasive  tone,  "  I  wanted  the  money  to  lav  it  out  on  a  med- 
icine as  does  me  good,  and  as  I  deal  in.  I  told  the  young  gen- 
tleman so,  and  he  gave  it  to  me,  and  I  laid  it  out  honest  to  the 
last  brass  farden.  I  want  to  layout  the  same  sum  in  the  same 
way  now  ;  and  if  you'll  give  it  me,  I'll  lay  it  out  honest  to  the 
last  brass  farden  again,  upon  my  soul  !  " 

"  What's  the  medicine  ?  " 


236  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  I'll  be  honest  with  you  beforehand,  as  well  as  after.  It's 
opium." 

Mr.  Datchery,  with  a  sudden  change  of  countenance,  gives 
her  a  sudden  look. 

"  It's  opium,  deary.  Neither  more  nor  less.  And  it's  like 
a  human  creelur  so  far,  that  you  always  hear  what  can  be  said 
against  it,  but  seldom  what  can  be  said  in  its  praise." 

Mr.  Datchery  begins  very  slowly  lo  count  out  the  sum  de- 
manded of  him.  Greedily  watchings  his  hands,  she  continues 
to  hold  forth  on  the  great  example  set  him. 

"It  was  last  Christmas  Eve,  just  arter  dark,  the  once  that  I 
was  here  afore,  when  the  young  gentleman  gave  me  the  three 
and  six." 

Mr.  Datchery  stops  his  counting,  finds  he  has  counted  wrong, 
shakes  his  money  together,  and  begins  again. 

"  And  the  young  gentleman's  name,"  she  adds,  "  was  Ed- 
win." 

Mr.  Datchery  drops  some  money,  stoops  to  pick  it  up,  and 
reddens  with  the  exertion,  as  he  asks, — 

"  How  do  you  know  the  young  erentleman's  name  ?  " 

"  I  asked  him  for  it,  and  he  told  it  me.  I  only  asked  him 
the  two  questions,  what  was  his  Chris'en  name,  and  whether 
he'd  a  sweetheart?     And  he  answered  Edwin,  and  he  hadn't." 

Mr.  Datchery  pauses  with  the  selected  coins  in  his  hand, 
rather  as  if  he  were  falling  into  a  brown  studv  of  their  value, 
and  couldn't  bear  to  part  with  them.  The  woman  looks  at 
him  distrustfully,  and  with  her  anger  brewing  for  the  event  of 
his  thinking  better  of  the  gift  ;  but  he  bestows  it  on  her  as  if  he 
were  abstracting  his  mind  from  the  sacrifice,  and  with  many 
servile  thanks  she  goes  her  way. 

John  Jasper's  lamp  is  kindled,  and  his  Lighthouse  is  shining, 
when  Mr.  Datchery  returns  alone  towards  it.  As  mariners  on 
a  dangerous  voyage,  approaching  an  iron  bound  coast,  may 
look  along  the  beams  of  the  warning  light  to  the  haven  lying 
beyond  it  that  may  never  be  reached,  so  Mr.  Datchery's  wistful 
gaze  is  directed  to  this  beacon,  and  beyond. 

His  object  in  now  revisiting  his  lodging  is  merely  to  put  on 
the  hat  which  seems  so  superfluous  an  article  in  his  wardrobe. 
It  is  half-past  ten  by  the  Cathedral  clock,  when  he  walks  out 
into  the  Precincts  again  ;  he  lingers  and  looks  about  him,  a* 
though,  the  enchanted  hour  when  Mr.  Durdles  may  be  stoned 
home  having  struck,  he  had  some  expectation  of  seeing  the 
Imp  who  is  appointed  to  the  mission  of  stoning  him. 

In  effect,  that  Power  of  Evil  is  abroad.      Having  nothing  liv- 


THE  DAWN  AGAIN. 


137 


ipg  to  stone  at  the  moment,  he  is  discovered  by  Mr.  Datchery 
in  the  unholy  office  of  stoning  the  dead,  through  the  railings  of 
the  churchyard.  The  Imp  finds  tnis  a  relishing  and  piquing 
pursuit  :  firstly,  because  their  resting-place  is  announced  to  be 
sacred  ;  and  secondly,  because  the  tall  headstones  are  suffi- 
ciently like  themselves  on  their  beat  in  the  dark,  to  justify  the 
delicious  fancy  that  they  are  hurt  when  hit. 

Mr.  Datchery  hails  him  with  :   "  Halloa,  Winks  !  " 

He  acknowledges  the  hail  with  :  "Halloa,  Dick!"  Thei: 
acquaintance  seemingly  having  been  established  on  a  familiar 
footing. 

"  but  I  say,"  he  remonstrates,  "  don't  yer  go  a  making  my 
name  public.  I  never  mean  to  plead  to  no  name,  mind  yer. 
When  they  says  to  me  in  the  Lock-up,  a  going  to  put  me 
down  in  the  book,  '  What's  your  name  ? '  I  says  to  them,  '  Find 
out.'  Likewise  when  they  says,  '  What's  your  religion  ?  '  I  says, 
'Find  out.'  " 

Which,  it  may  be  observed  in  passing,  it  would  be  immensely 
difficult  for  the  State,  however  statistical,  to  do. 

"Asides  which,"  adds  the  boy,  "there  ain't  no  family  of 
Winkses." 

"  I  think  there  must  be." 

"Yer  lie,  there  ain't.  The  Travellers  give  me  the  name  on 
account  of  my  getting  no  settled  sleep  and  being  knocked  up 
all  night;  whereby  I  gets  one  eye  roused  open  afore  I've  shut 
the  other.  That's  what  Winks  means.  Deputy's  the  nighest 
name  to  indict  me  by;  but  yer  wouldn't  catch  me  pleading  to 
that,  neither." 

"  Deputy  be  it  always,  then.  We  two  are  good  friends  ;  eh, 
Deputy  ?  " 

"Jolly  good." 

"  I  forgave  you  the  debt  you  owed  me  when  we  first  became 
acquainted,  and  many  of  my  sixpences  have  come  your  way 
since  ;  eh,  Deputy  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  And  what's  more,  yer  ain't  no  friend  o'  Jarsper's. 
What  did  he  go  a  histing  me  oil  my  legs  for  ?  " 

"  What  indeed  !  But  never  mind  him  now.  A  shilling  of 
mine  is  going  your  way  to-night,  Deputy.  You  have  just  taken 
in  a  lodger  I  have  been  speaking  to ;  an  infirm  woman  with  a 
cough." 

"  Puffer,"  assents  Deputy,  with  a  shrewd  leer  of  recognition, 
and  smoking  an  imaginary  pipe,  widi  his  head  very  much  on 
one  side,  and  his  eyes  very  much  out  of  their  places  :  "  Hopeum 
Puffer." 


238  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  What  is  her  name  ?  " 

"'Er  Royal  Highness  the  Princess  Puffer/' 

"  She  has  some  other  name  than  that  ;  where  does  she  live?" 

"  Up  in  London.     Among  the  Jacks." 

"  The  sailors  ?  " 

"  I  said  so ;  Jacks.  And  Chayner  men.  And  hothei 
K.nifers." 

"  1  should  like  to  know,  through  you,  exactly  where  she 
lives." 

"  All  right.      Give  us  'old." 

A  shilling  passes  ;  and,  in  that  spirit  of  confidence  which 
should  pervade  all  business  transactions  between  principals  of 
honour,  this  piece  of  business  is  considered  done. 

"But  here's  a  lark  !"   cries  Deputy. 

"Where  did  yer  think  'Er  Royal  Highness  is  a  goin'  to,  to- 
morrow morning?  Blest  if  she  ain't  a  goin'  to  the  Kin-free- 
der-el  ! "  He  greatly  prolongs  the  word  in  his  ecstasy,  and 
smites  his  leg,  and  doubles  himself  up  in  a  lit  of  shrill  laughter. 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  Deputy  ?  " 

"  Cos  she  told  me  so  just  now.  She  said  she  must  be  hup 
and  hout  o'  purpose.  She  ses,  'Deputy,  1  must  'ave  a  early 
wash,  and  make  myself  as  swell  as  I  can,  for  I'm  a  goin'  to  take 
a  turn  at  the  Kin-free-der-el  !"  He  separates  the  syllables 
with  his  former  zest,  and,  not  finding  his  sense  of  the  ludicrous 
sufficiently  relieved  by  stamping  about  on  the  pavement,  breaks 
into  a  slow  and  stately  dance,  perhaps  supposed  to  be  performed 
by  the  Dean. 

Mr.  Datchery  receives  the  communication  with  a  well-satis- 
fied though  a  pondering  face,  and  breaks  up  the  conference. 
Returning  to  his  quaint  lodging,  and  sitting  long  over  the  sup- 
per of  bread  and  cheese  and  salad  and  ale  which  Mrs.  Tope 
has  left  prepared  for  him,  he  still  sits  when  his  supper  is  fin- 
ished. At  length  he  rises,  throws  open  the  door  of  a  corner 
cupboard,  and  refers  to  a  few  uncouth  chalked  strokes  on  its 
inner  side. 

"  I  like,"  says  Mr.  Datchery,  "  the  old  tavern  way  of  keeping 
scores.  Illegible,  except  to  the  scorer.  The  scorer  not  com- 
mitted, the  scored  debited  with  what  is  against  him.  Hum  ; 
ha  !  a  very  small  score  this  ;  a  very  poor  score  !  " 

He  sighs  over  the  contemplation  of  its  poverty,  takes  2 
bit  of  chalk  from  one  of  the  cupboard  shelves,  and  pauses 
with  it  in  his  hand,  uncertain  what  addition  to  make  to  the 
account. 

"  I  think  a  moderate  stroke,"  he  concludes,   "  is  all  I  am 


THE   DA  IV.V  AGAIN:  2t,Q 

justified  in  scoring  up"  ;  so,  suits  the  action  to  the  word,  closes 
the  cupboard,  and  goes  to  bed. 

A  brilliant  morning  shines  on  the  old  city.  Its  antiquities 
and  ruins  are  surpassingly  beautiful,  with  the  lusty  ivy  gleaming 
in  the  sun,  and  the  rich  trees  waving  in  the  balmy  air.  Changes 
of  glorious  light  from  moving  boughs,  songs  of  birds,  scents 
from  gardens,  woods,  and  fields, — or,  rather,  from  one  great 
garden  of  the  whole  cultivated  island  in  its  yielding  time, — 
penetrate  into  the  Cathedral,  subdue  its  earthy  odor,  and 
preach  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life.  The  cold  stone  tombs 
of  centuries  ago  grow  warm  ;  and  flecks  of  brightness  dart  into 
the  sternest  marble  corners  of  the  building,  fluttering  there  like 
wings. 

Comes  Mr.  Tope  with  his  large  keys  and  vawninglv  unlocks 
and  sets  open.  Come  Mrs.  Tope  and  attendant  sweeping 
sprites.  Come,  in  due  time,  organist  and  bellows-boy  peeping 
down  from  the  red  curtains  in  the  loft,  fearlessly  flapping  dust 
from  books  up  at  that  remote  elevation,  and  whisking  it  from 
stops  and  pedals.  Come  sundry  rooks,  from  various  quarters 
of  the  sky,  back  to  the  great  tower ;  who  may  be  presumed  to 
enjoy  vibration,  and  to  know  that  bell  and  organ  are  going  to 
give  it  them.  Come  a  very  small  and  straggling  congregation 
indeed  :  chiefly  from  Minor  Canon  Coiner  and  the  Precincts. 
Come  Mr.  Crisparkle,  fresh  and  bright  ;  and  his  ministering 
brethren,  not  quite  so  fresh  and  bright.  Come  the  Choir  in  a 
hurry  (always  in  a  hurry,  and  struggling  into  their  nightgowns 
at  the  last  moment,  like  children  shirking  bid),  and  comes 
John  Jasper  leading  their  line.  Last  of  all  comes  Mr.  Datchery 
into  a  stall,  one  of  a  choice  empty  collection  very  much  at  his 
service,  and  glancing  about  him  for  Her  Royal  Highneso  the 
Princess  Puffer. 

The  service  is  pretty  well  advanced  before  Mr.  Datchery  can 
discern  Her  Royal  Highness.  "But  by  that  time  he  has  made 
her  out,  in  the  shade.  She  is  behind  a  pillar,  carefully  with- 
drawn'from  the  Choir  Master's  view,  but  regards  him  with  the 
closest  attention.  All  unconscious  of  her  presence,  he  chants 
and  sings.  She  grins  when  he  is  most  musically  fervid,  and — 
yes,  Mr.  Datchery  sees  her  do  it! — shakes  her  fist  at  him  be- 
hind the  pillar's  friendly  shelter. 

Mr.  Datchery  looks  again  to  convince  himself.  Yes,  again  I 
As  ugly  and  withered  as  one  of  the  fantastic  carvings  on  lb  ■ 
under  brackets  of  the  stall  seats,  as  malignant  as  the  Evil  One, 
as  hard  as  the  big  brass  eagle  holding  the  sacred  books  Upon 
his  wings  (and,  according  to  the  sculptor's  representation  of 


240  THE   MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DR00D. 

his  ferocious  attributes,  not  at  all  converted  by  them),  she  hugs 
herself  in  her  lean  arms,  and  then  shakes  both  fists  at  the  leader 
of  the  Choir. 

And  at  that  moment,  outside  the  grated  door  of  the  Choir, 
having  eluded  the  vigilance  of  Mr.  Tope  by  shifty  resources  in 
winch  he  is  an  adept,  Deputy  peeps,  sharp-eyed,  through  the 
bars,  and  stares  astounded  from  the  threatener  to  the  threatened. 

The  service  comes  to  an  end,  and  the  servitors  disperse  to 
breakfast.  Mr.  Datchery  accosts  his  last  new  acquaintance 
outside,  when  the  Choir  (as  much  in  a  hurry  to  get  their  bed- 
gowns off,  as  they  were  but  now  to  get  them  on)  have  scuffled 
away. 

"  Well,  mistress.     Good  morning.     You  have  seen  him  ?  " 

"I've  seen  him,  deary  ;  I've  seen  him  !" 

"  And  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  Know  him  !  Better  far  than  all  the  Reverend  Parsons  put 
together  know  him." 

Mrs.  Tope's  care  has  spread  a  very  neat,  clean  breakfast 
ready  for  her  lodgen  Before  sitting  down  to  it,  he  opens  his 
corner-cupboard  door ;  takes  his  bit  of  chalk  from  its  shelf; 
adds  one  thick  line  to  the  score,  extending  from  the  top  of  the 
cupboard  door  to  the  bottom  ;  and  then  falls  to  with  an  appetite. 


{Left  unfinished,  by  the  Author's  death.) 


SHORT 


MISCELLANEOUS    PIECES. 


HUNTED    DOWN. 


OST  of  us  see  some  romances  in  life.     In  my  capacity 

as  Chief  Manager  of  a  Life  Assurance  Office,  I  think 

I  have  within  the  last  thirty  years  seen  more  romances 

than  the  generality  of  men,  however  unpromising  the 

opportunity  may,  at  first  sight,  seem. 

As  I  have  retired,  and  live  at  my  ease,  I  possess  the  means 
that  I  used  to  want,  of  considering  what  I  have  seen,  at  leisure. 
My  experiences  have  a  more  remarkable  aspect,  so  reviewed, 
than  they  had  when  they  were  in  progress.  I  have  come  home 
from  the  Play  now,  and  can  recall  the  scenes  of  the  Drama 
upon  which  the  curtain  has  fallen,  free  from  the  glare,  bewilder- 
ment, and  bustle  of  the  Theatre. 

Let  me  recall  one  of  these  Romances  of  the  real  world. 

There  is  nothing  truer  than  physiognomy,  taken  in  connec- 
tion with  manner.  The  art  of  reading  that  book  of  which 
Eternal  Wisdom  obliges  every  human  creature  to  present  his  or 
her  own  page  with  the  individual  character  written  on  it,  is  a 
difficult  one,  perhaps,  and  is  little  studied.  It  may  require 
some  natural  aptitude,  and  it  must  require  (for  everything  does) 
some  patience  and  some  pains.  That  there  are  not  usually 
given  to  it, — that  numbers  of  people  accept  a  few  stock  com- 
monplace expressions  of  face  as  the  whole  list  of  characteris- 
tics, and  neither  seek  nor  know  the  refinements  that  are  truest, 
— that  You,  for  instance,  give  a  great  deal  of  time  and  atten- 
tion to  the  reading  of  music,  Greek,  Latin,  French,  Italian, 
Hebrew  if  you  please,  and  do  not  qualify  yourself  to  read  the 


244  HUNTED   DOWN. 

face  of  the  master  or  mistress  looking  over  your  shoulder  teach- 
ing it  to  you, — I  assume  to  be  five  hundred  times  more  probable 
than  improbable.  Perhaps  a  little  self-sufficiency  may  be  at 
the  bottom  of  this  ;  facial  expression  requires  no  study  from 
you,  you  think  ;  it  comes  by  nature  to  you  to  know  enough 
about  it,  and  you  are  not  to  be  taken  in. 

I  confess,  for  my  part,  that  1  have  been  taken  in,  over  and 
over  again.  I  have  been  taken  in  by  acquaintances,  and  I 
have  been  taken  in  (of  course)  by  friends ;  far  oftener  by 
friends  than  by  any  other  class  of  persons.  How  came  I  to 
be  so  deceived  ?     Had  I  quite  misread  their  faces  ? 

No.  Believe  me,  my  first  impression  of  those  people, 
founded  on  face  and  manner  alone,  was  invariably  true.  My 
mistake  was  in  suffering  them  to  come  nearer  to  me  and  ex- 
plain themselves  away. 


II. 


!^|HE  partition  which  separated  my  own  office  from  our 
general  outer  office  in  the  City  was  of  thick  plate- 
glass.  I  could  see  through  it  what  passed  in  the  outer 
office,  without  hearing  a  word.  I  had  it  put  up,  in 
place  of  a  wall  that  had  been  there  for  years, — ever  since  the 
house  was  built.  It  was  no  matter  whether  I  did  or  did  not 
make  the  change  in  order  that  I  might  derive  my  first  impres- 
sion of  strangers,  who  came  to  us  on  business,  from  their  faces 
alone,  without  being  influenced  by  anything  they  said.  Enough 
to  mention  that  I  turned  my  glass  partition  to  that  account, 
and  that  a  Life  Assurance  Office  is  at  all  times  exposed  to  be 
practised  upon  by  the  most  crafty  and  cruel  of  the  human  race. 
It  was  through  my  glass  partition  that  I  first  saw  the  gentle- 
man whose  story  I  am  going  to  tell. 

He  had  come  in  without  my  observing  it,  and  had  put  his  hat 
and  umbrella  on  the  broad  counter,  and  was  bending  over  it 
to  take  some  papers  from  one  of  the  clerks.  He  was  about 
forty  or  so,  exceedingly  well  dressed  in  black, — being  in 
mourning. — and  the  hand  he  extended  with  a  polite  air  had  a 
particularly  well-fitting,  black  kid  glove  upon  it.  His  hair, 
which  was  elaborately  brushed  and  oiled,  was  parted  straight 
up  the  middle  ;  and  he  presented  this  parting  to  the  clerk, 
exactly  (to  my  thinking)  as  if  he  had  said,  in  so  many  words : 


HUNTED  DOWN. 


245 


"You  must  take  me,  if  you  please,  my  friend,  just  as  I  show 
myself.  Come  straight  up  here  ;  follow  the  gravel  path;  keep 
off  the  grass  ;  I  allow  no  trespassing." 

I  conceived  a.  very  great  aversion  lo  that  man  the  moment  I 
thus  saw  him. 

He  had  asked  for  some  of  our  printed  forms,  and  the  clerk 
was  giving  them  to  him  and  explaining  them.  An  obliged 
and  agreeable  smile  was  on  his  face,  and  his  eyes  met  those  of 
the  clerk  with  a  sprightly  look.  (I  have  known  a  vast  quantity 
of  nonsense  talked  about  bad  men  not  looking  you  in  the  face. 
Don't  trust  that  conventional  idea.  Dishonesty  will  stare 
honesty  out  of  countenance,  any  day  in  the  week,  if  there  is 
anything  to  be  got  by  it.) 

I  saw,  in  the  corner  of  his  eyelash,  that  he  became  aware  of 
my  looking  at  him.  Immediately  he  turned  the  parting  in  his 
hair  toward  the  glass  partition,  as  if  he  said  to  me  with  a  sweet 
smile,  "  Straight  up  here,  if  you  please.      Off  the  grass  !  " 

In  a  few  moments  he  had  put  on  his  hat  and  taken  up  his 
umbrella,  and  was  gone. 

I  beckoned  the  clerk  into  my  room,  and  asked,  "  Who  was 
that  ?  " 

He  had  the  gentleman's  card  in  his  hand.  "Mr.  Julius 
Slinkton,  Middle  Temple." 

"  A  barrister,  Mr.  Adams  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,  sir." 

"  I  should  have  thought  him  a  clergyman,  but  for  his  having 
no  Reverend  here,"  said  I. 

"Probably,  from  his  appearance,"  Mr.  Adams  replied,  "he 
is  reading  for  orders." 

I  should  mention  that  he  wore  a  dainty  white  cravat,  and 
dainty  linen  altogether. 

"  What  did  he  want,  Mr.  Adams  ?  " 

"  Merely  a  form  of  proposal,  sir,  and  form  of  reference." 

"  Recommended  here  ?     Did  he  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  said  he  was  recommended  here  by  a  friend  of 
yours.  He  noticed  you,  but  said  that  as  he  had  not  the 
ple'asure  of  your  personal  acquaintance  he  would  not  trouble 
you." 

"  Did  he  know  my  name  ?" 

"  O  yes,  sir  !     He  said,  '  There  is  Mr.  Sampson,  I  see  ! '  " 

"A  well-spoken  gentleman,  apparently  ?" 

"  Remarkably  so,  sir." 

"  Insinuating  manners,  apparently  ?  " 

"  Very  much  so,  indeed,  sir." 


246  HUNTED  DOWN. 

"  Hah  !  "  said  I.     "I  want  nothing  at  present,  Mr.  Adams" 

Within  a  fortnight  of  that  day  I  went  to  dine  with  a  friend  of 
mine,  a  merchant,  a  man  of  taste  who  buys  pictures  anil  books  ; 
and  the  first  man  I  saw  among  the  company  was  Mr.  Julius 
Slinkton.  There  he  was,  standing  before  the  fire,  with  good 
large  eyes  and  an  open  expression  of  face  ;  but  still  (I  thought) 
requiring  everybody  to  come  at  him  by  the  prepaied  way  he 
offered,  and  by  no  other. 

1  noticed  him  ask  my  friend  to  introduce  him  to  Mr.  Sampson, 
and  my  friend  did  so.  Mr.  Slinkton  was  very  happy  to  see  me. 
Not  too  happy  ;  there  was  no  over-doing  of  the  matter  ;  happy 
in  a  thoroughly  well-bred,  perfectly  unmeaning  way. 

"  I  thought  you  had  met,"  our  host  observed. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Slinkton.  "I  did  look  in  at  Mr.  Sampson's 
office,  on  your  recommendation  ;  but  I  really  did  not  feel  justi- 
fied in  troubling  Mr.  Sampson  himself,  on  a  point  in  the  every- 
day routine  of  an  ordinary  clerk." 

I  said  I  should  have  been  glad  to  show  him  any  attention  on 
our  friend's  introduction. 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,"  said  he,  "and  am  much  obliged.  At 
another  time,  perhaps,  I  may  be  less  delicate.  Only,  however, 
if  I  have  real  business  ;  for  I  know,  Mr.  Sampson,  how 
precious  business  time  is,  and  what  a  vast  number  of  im- 
pertinent people  there  are  in  the  world." 

I  acknowledged  his  consideration  with  a  slight  bow.  'cYou 
were  thinking,"  said  I,  "  of  effecting  a  policy  on  your  life." 

"  O  dear,  no  !  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  so  prudent  as  you  pay 
me  the  compliment  of  supposing  me  to  be,  Mr.  Sampson.  I 
merely  inquired  for  a  friend.  But  you  know  what  friends  are 
in. such  matters.  Nothing  may  ever  come  of  it.  I  have  the 
greatest  reluctance  to  trouble  men  of  business  with  inquiries 
for  friends,  knowing  the  probabilities  to  be  a  thousand  to  one 
that  the  friends  will  never  follow  them  up.  People  are  so 
fickle,  so  selfish,  so  inconsiderate.  Don't  you,  in  your  busi- 
ness, find  them  so  every  day,  Mr.  Sampson  ?" 

I  was  going  to  give  a  qualified  answer ;  but  he  turned  his 
smooth,  white  parting  on  me  with  its  "  Straight  up  here,  if  you 
please  !  "  and  I  answered,  "  Yes." 

"  I  hear,  Mr.  Sampson,"  he  resumed,  presently,  for  our  friend 
had  a  new  cook,  and  dinner  was  not  so  punctual  as  usual, 
"  that  your  profession  has  recently  suffered  a  great  loss." 

"  In  money  !  "  said  I. 

He  laughed  at  my  ready  association  of  loss  with  money,  and 
replied,  "  No,  in  talent  and  vigour." 


II  UNI  ED  DOWN. 


247 


Not  at  once  following  out  Ins  allusion,  I  considered  for  a 
moment.  "Has  it  sustained  a  loss  of  thatkind?"  said  I.  "I 
was  not  aware  of  it." 

"Understand  me,  Mr.  Sampssn.  I  don't  imagine  that  you 
have  retired.     It  is  not  so  bad  as  that.     But  Mr.  Meltham — " 

"  O,  to  be  sure  !  "  said  I.  "  Yes  !  Mr.  Meltham,  the  young 
actuary  of  the  '  Inestimable. '  " 

"Just  so,"  he  returned,  in  a  consoling  way. 

"  He  is  a  great  loss.  He  was  at  once  the  most  profound, 
the  most  original,  and  the  most  energetic  man  I  have  ever 
known  connected  with  Life  Assurance." 

I  spoke  strongly  ;  for  I  had  a  high  esteem  and  admiration 
for  Meltham,  and  my  gentleman  had  indefinitely  conveyed  to 
me  some  suspicion  that  he  wanted  to  sneer  at  him.  He  re- 
called me  to  my  guard  by  presenting  that  trim  pathway  up 
his  head,  with  its  infernal  "  Not  on  the  grass,  if  you  please, — 
the   gravel." 

"  You  knew  him,  Mr.  Slinkton." 

"  Only  by  reputation.  To  have  known  him  as  an  acquaint- 
ance, or  as  a  friend,  is  an  honour  I  should  have  sought  if  he 
had  remained  in  society,  though  I  might  never  have  had  the 
good  fortune  to  attain  it,  being  a  man  of  far  inferior  mark.  He 
was  scarcely  above  thirty,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  About  thirty." 

"  Ah  !  "  He  sighed  in  his  former  consoling  way.  "  What 
creatures  we  are  !  To  break  up,  Mr.  Sampson,  and  become 
incapable  of  business  at  that  time  of  life  ! — Any  reason  as- 
signed for  the  melancholy  fact?" 

("  Humph  !  "  thought  I,  as  I  looked  at  him.  "  But  1  won't 
go  up  the  track,  and  I  will  go  on  the  grass.") 

"  What  reason  have  you  heard  assigned,  Mr.  Slinkton  ?  "  I 
asked  point  blank. 

"  Most  likely  a  false  one.  You  know  what  Rumour  is,  Mr. 
Sampson.  I  never  repeat  what  I  hear  ;  it  is  the  only  way  of 
paring  the  nails  and  shaving  the  head  of  Rumour.  But,  when 
you  ask  me  what  reason  I  have  heard  assigned  for  Mr.  Melt- 
ham's  passing  away  from  among  men,  it  is  another  thing.  1 
am  not  gratifying  idle  gossip  then.  I  was  told,  Mr.  Sampson, 
that  Mr.  Meltham  had  relinquished  all  his  avocations  and  all 
prospects,  because  he  was,  in  fact,  broken-hearted.  A  disap- 
pointed attachment  I  heard,-—  though  it  hardly  seems  probable, 
in  the  case  of  a  man  so  distinguished  and  so  attractive." 

"Attractions  and  distinctions  are  no  armour  against  death," 
said  I. 


248  HUNTED  DOWN. 

"  Oh  !  she  died  ?  Pray  pardon  me.  I  did  not  hear  that. 
That,  indeed,  makes  it  very  sad.  Poor  Mr.  Meltham  !  She 
died?     Ah,  dear  me  !     Lamentable,  lamentable  !" 

I  still  thought  his  pity  was  not  quite  genuine,  and  I  still  sus- 
pected an  unaccountable  sneer  under  all  this,  until  he  said  as 
we  were  parted,  like  the  other  knots  of  talkers,  by  the  an- 
nouncement of  dinner, 

"  Mr.  Sampson,  you  are  surprised  to  see  me  so  moved  on 
behalf  of  a  man  whom  I  have  never  known.  I  am  not  so  dis- 
interested as  you  may  suppose.  I  have  suffered,  and  recently 
too,  from  death  myself.  I  have  lost  one  of  two  charming 
nieces,  who  were  my  constant  companions.  She  died  young, 
— barely  three-and-twenly, — and  even  her  remaining  sister  is 
far  from  strong.     The  world  is  a  grave  !  " 

He  said  this  with  deep  feeling,  and  I  felt  reproached  for  the 
coldness  of  my  manner.  Coldness  and  distrust  had  been  en- 
gendered in  me,  I  knew,  by  my  bad  experiences  ;  they  were 
not  natural  to  me  ;  and  I  often  thought  how  much  I  had  lost 
in  life,  losing  trustfulness,  and  how  little  I  had  gained,  gaining 
hard  caution.  This  state  of  mind  being  habitual  to  me,  I 
troubled  myself  more  about  this  conversation  than  I  might 
have  troubled  myself  about  a  greater  matter.  I  listened  to  his 
talk  at  dinner,  and  observed  how  readily  other  men  responded 
to  it,  and  with  what  a  graceful  instinct  he  adapted  his  subjects 
to  the  knowledge  and  habits  of  those  he  talked  with.  As,  in 
talking  with  me.  he  had  easily  started  the  subject  I  might  be 
supposed  to  understand  best,  and  to  be  the  most  interested  in, 
so,  in  talking  with  others,  he  guided  himself  by  the  same  rule. 
The  company  was  of  varied  character  ;  but  he  was  not  at  fault, 
that  I  could  discover,  with  any  member  of  it.  He  knew  just  as 
much  of  each  man's  pursuit  as  made  him  agreeable  to  that  man 
in  reference  to  it,  and  just  as  little  as  made  it  natural  in  him  to 
seek  modestly  for  information  when  the  theme  was  broached. 

As  he  talked  and  talked, — but  really  not  too  much,  for  the 
rest  of  us  seemed  to  force  it  upon  him, — I  became  quite  angry 
with  myself.  I  took  his  face  to  pieces  in  my  mind,  like  a 
watch,  and  examined  it  in  detail.  I  could  not  say  much  against 
any  of  his  features  separately  ;  I  could  say  even  less  against 
them  when  they  were  put  together.  "  Then  is  it  not  mon- 
strous," I  asked  myself,  "  that  because  a  man  happens  to  part 
his  hair  straight  up  the  middle  of  his  head,  1  should  permit  my- 
self to  suspect,  and  even  to  detest  him  ?  " 

(I  may  stop  to  remark  that  this  was  no  proof  of  my  sense. 
An  observer  of  men  who  finds   himself  steadily  repelled  by 


HUNTED  DOWN. 


249 


some  apparently  trifling  thing  in  a  stranger  is  right  to  give  it 
great  weight.  It  may  be  the  clue  to  the  whole  mystery.  A 
hair  or  two  will  show  where  a  lion  is  hidden.  A  very  little  key 
will  open  a  very  heavy  door.) 

I  took  my  part  in  the  conversation  with  him  after  a  time,  and 
we  got  on  remarkably  well.  In  the  drawing-room  I  asked  the 
host  how  long  he  had  known  Mr.  Slinkton  ?  He  answered, 
not  many  months  ;  he  had  met  him  at  the  house  of  a  cele- 
brated painter  then  present,  who  had  known  him  well  when 
he  was  travelling  with  his  nieces  in  Italy  for  their  health.  His 
plans  in  life  being  broken  by  the  death  of  one  of  them,  he  was 
reading  with  the  intention  of  going  back  to  college  as  a  matter 
of  form,  taking  his  degree,  and  going  into  orders.  I  could  not 
but  argue  with  myself  that  here  was  the  true  explanation  of 
his  interest  in  poor  Meltham,  and  that  I  had  been  almost  bru- 
tal in  my  distrust  on  that  simple  head. 


III. 

N  the  very  next  day  but  one,  I  was  sitting  behind  my 
glass  partition,  as  before,  when  he  came  into  the  outer 
office  as  before.     The  moment  I  saw  him  again  with- 
out hearing  him,  I  hated  him  worse  than  ever. 
It  was  only  for  a  moment  that  I  had  this  opportunity  ;  for  he 
waved  his  tight-fitting  black  glove  the  instant  I  looked  at  him, 
and  came  straight  in. 

"  Mr.  Sampson,  good  day  !  I  presume,  you  see,  upon  your 
kind  permission  to  intrude  upon  you.  I  don't  keep  my  word 
in  being  justified  by  business,  for  my  business  here — if  I  may  so 
abuse  the  word — is  of  the  slightest  nature." 
I  asked,  was  it  anything  I  could  assist  him  in  ? 
"  I  thank  you,  no.  I  merely  called  to  inquire  outside, 
whether  my  dilatory  friend  had  been  so  false  to  himself  as  to  be 
practical  and  sensible.  But,  of  course,  he  has  done  nothing. 
I  gave  him  your  papers  with  my  own  hand,  and  he  was  hot  upon 
the  intention,  but  of  course  he  has  done  nothing.  Apart  from 
the  general  human  disinclination  to  do  anything  that  ought  to  be 
done,  I  dare  say  there  is  a  specialty  about  assuring  one's  life? 
You  find  it  like  will-making  ?  People  are  so  superstitious,  and 
take  it  for  granted  they  will  die  soon  afterwards  ?  " 

"  Up  here,  if  you  please.     Straight  up  here,  Mr.  Sampson. 
11* 


'250  HUNTED  DOWN. 

Neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left  !  "  1  almost  fancied  I  could 
hear  him  breathe  the  words,  as  he  sat  smiling  at  me,  with 
that  intolerable  parting  exactly  opposite  the  bridge  of  my  nose. 

"  There  is  such  a  feeling  sometimes,  no  doubt,"  I  replied  ; 
"but  I  don't  think  it  obtains  to  any  great  extent." 

"Well,"  said  he,  with  a  shrug  and  a  smile,  "I  wish  some 
good  angel  would  influence  my  friend  in  the  right  direction.  I 
rashly  promised  his  mother  and  sister  in  Norfolk,  to  see  it  done, 
and  he  promised  them  that  he  would  do  it.  But  I  suppose  he 
never  will." 

He  spoke  for  a  minute  or  two  on  indifferent  topics  and 
went  away. 

I  had  scarcely  unlocked  the  drawers  of  my  writing-table  next 
morning  when  he  reappeared.  I  noticed  that  he  came  straight 
to  the  door  in  the  glass  partition,  and  did  not  pause  a  single 
moment  outside. 

"  Can  you  spare  me  two  minutes,  my  dear  Mr.  Sampson  ?  " 

"  By  all  means." 

"Much  obliged,"  laying  his  hat  and  umbrella  on  the  table  ; 
"  I  came  early,  not  to  interrupt  you.  The  fact  is,  I  am  taken 
by  surprise,  in  reference  to  this  proposal  my  friend  has 
made." 

"  Has  he  made  one  ?"  said  I. 

"  Ye-es,"  he  answered,  deliberately  looking  at  me  ;  and  then 
a  bright  idea  seemed  to  strike  him  ; — "  or  he  only  tells  me  he 
has.  Perhaps  that  may  be  a  new  way  of  evading  the  matter. 
By  Jupiter,  I  never  thought  of  that  !  " 

Mr.  Adams  was  opening  the  morning's  letters  in  the  outer 
office.      "  What  is  the  name,  Mr.  Siinkton?"  1  asked. 

"  Beckwith." 

I  looked  out  at  the  door  and  requested  Mr.  Adams,  if  there 
were  a  proposal  in  that  name,  to  bring  it  in.  He  had  already 
laid  it  out  of  his  hand  on  the  counter.  It  was  easily  selected 
from  the  rest,  and  he  gave  it  me.  Alfred  Beckwith.  Proposal 
to  effect  a  policy  with  us  for  two  thousand  pounds.  Dated  yes- 
terday. 

"  From  the  Middle  Temple,  I  see,  Mr.  Siinkton." 

"  Yes.  He  lives  on  the  same  staircase  with  me  ;  his  door 
is  opposite.  I  never  thought  he  would  make  me  his  reference 
though." 

"  It  seems  natural  enough  that  he  should." 

"  Quite  so,  Mr.  Sampson  ;  but  I  never  thought  of  it.  Let 
me  see."  He  took  the  printed  paper  from  his  pocket.  "  Hovr 
am  I  to  answer  all  these  questions  !  " 


HUNTED  DOWN. 


251 


"According  to  ths  truth,  of  course,"  said  I. 

"  O,  of  course!"  lie  answered,  looking  up  from  the  paper 
with  a  smile  ;  "  I  meant  they  were  so  many.  But,  you  do  right 
to  be  particular.  Will  you  allow  me  to  use  your  pen  and 
nk  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  And  your  desk  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

He  had  been  hovering  about  between  his  hat  and  his  um- 
brella, for  a  place  to  write  on.  He  now  sat  down  in  my  chair, 
at  my  blotting  paper  and  inkstand,  with  the  long  walk  up  his 
head  in  accurate  perspective  before  me,  as  I  stood  with  my 
back  to  the  fire. 

Before  answering  each  question  he  ran  over  it  aloud,  and  dis- 
cussed it.  How  long  had  he  known  Mr.  Alfred  Beckwith  ? 
That  he  had  to  calculate  by  years  upon  his  fingers.  What  were 
his  habits?  No  difficulty  about- them  ;  temperate  in  the  last 
degree,  and  took  a  little  too  much  exercise,  if  anything.  All 
the  answers  were  satisfactory.  When  he  had  written  them  all, 
he  looked  them  over,  and  finally  signed  them  in  a  very  pretty 
hand.  He  supposed  he  had  now  done  with  the  business  ?  I 
told  him  he  was  not  likely  to  be  troubled  any  further.  Should 
he  leave  the  papers  there  ?  If  he  pleased.  Much  obliged. 
Good  morning ! 

I  had  had  one  other  visitor  before  him  ;  not  at  the  office,  but 
at  my  own  house.  The  visitor  had  come  to  my  bedside  when 
it  was  not  yet  daylight,  and  had  been  seen  by  no  one  else  but 
my  faithful  confidential  servant. 

A  second  reference  paper  (for  we  required  always  two)  was 
sent  down  into  Norfolk,  and  was  duly  received  back  by  post. 
This,  likewise,  was  satisfactorily  answered  in  every  respect. 
Our  forms  were  all  complied  with,  we  accepted  the  proposal, 
and  the  premium  for  one  year  was  paid. 


IV. 


OR  six  or  seven  months,  I  saw  no  more  of  Mr.  Slink- 
ton.      He  called  once  at  my  house,  but  I  was  not  at 
home  ;  and  he  once  asked  me  to  dine  with  him  in  the 
m  Temple,  but  I  was  engaged.     His  friend's  Assurance 
was  effected  in  March.    Late  in  September  or  early  in  October, 


252  HUNTED   DOWN. 

I  was  down  in  Scarborough  for  a  breath  of  sea  air,  where  I  met 
him  on  the  beach.  It  was  a  hot  evening  ;  he  came  toward  me 
with  his  hat  in  his  hand  ;  and  there  was  the  walk  I  had  felt  so 
strongly  disinclined  to  take,  in  perfect  order  again,  exactly  in 
front  of  the  bridge  of  my  nose. 

He  was  not  alone,  but  had  a  young  lady  on  his  arm. 

She  was  dressed  in  mourning,  and  I  looked  at  her  with  great 
interest.  She  had  the  appearance  of  being  extremely  delicate, 
and  her  face  was  remarkably  pale  and  melancholy ;  but  she  was 
very  pretty.     He  introduced  her  as  his  niece,  Miss  Niner. 

"  Are  you  strolling,  Mr.  Sampson  ?  Is  it  possible  you  can 
be  idle  ?  " 

It  was  possible,  and  I  was  strolling. 

"  Shall  we  stroll  together  ?  " 

"With  pleasure." 

The  young  lady  walked  between  us,  and  we  walked  on  the 
cool  sea  sand,  in  the  direction  of  Filey. 

"There  have  been  wheels  here,"  said  Mr.  Slinkton.  "And 
now  I  look  again,  the  wheels  of  a  hand-carriage  !  Margaret, 
my  love,  your  shadow,  without  doubt !  " 

"Miss  Niner's  shadow?"  I  repeated,  looking  down  at  it  on 
the  sand, 

"  Not  that  one,"  Mr.  Slinkton  returned,  laughing.  "  Mar- 
garet, my  dear,  tell  Mr.  Sampson." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  young  lady,  turning  to  me,  "  there  is 
nothing  to  tell, — except  that  I  constantly  see  the  same  invalid 
old  gentleman,  at  all  times,  wherever  I  go.  I  have  mentioned 
it  to  my  uncle,  and  he  calls  the  gentleman  my  shadow." 

"  Does  he  live  in  Scarborough  ?"  I  asked. 

"  He  is  staying  here." 

"  Do  you  live  in  Scarborough  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  staying  here.  My  uncle  has  placed  me  with  a 
family  here,  for  my  health." 

"And  your  shadow  ?"  said  I,  smiling. 

"  My  shadow,"  she  answered,  smiling  too,  "  is — -like  myself 
— not  very  robust,  I  fear;  for  I  lose  my  shadow  sometimes,  as 
my  shadow  loses  me  at  other  times.  We  both  seem  liable  to 
confinement  to  the  house.  I  have  not  seen  my  shadow  for 
days  and  days ;  but  it  does  oddly  happen,  occasionally,  that 
wherever  I  go,  for  many  days  together,  this  gentleman  goes. 
We  have  come  together  in  the  most  unfrequent  nooks  on  this 
shore." 

"  Is  this  he  ?  "  said  I,  pointing  before  us. 

The  wheels  had    swept  down  to  the    water's    edge,    and  de- 


HUNTED  DOWN. 


253 


scribed  a  great  loop  on  the  sand  in  turning.  Bringing  the 
loop  back  towards  us,  and  spinning  it  out  as  it  came,  was  a 
hand-can iage  drawn  by  a  man. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Niner,  "  this  really  is  my  shadow,  uncle!" 

As  the  carriage  approached  us  and  we  approached  the 
carriage,  I  saw  within  it  an  old  man,  whose  head  was  sunk  on 
his  breast,  and  who  was  enveloped  in  a  variety  of  wrappers. 
He  was  drawn  by  a  very  quiet  but  very  keen  looking  man,  with 
iron-grey  hair,  who  was  slightly  lame.  They  had  passed  us, 
when  the  carriage  stopped,  and  the  old  gentleman  within,  put- 
ting out  his  arm,  called  to  me  by  my  name.  I  went  back,  and 
was  absent  from  Mr.  Slinkton  and  his  niece  for  about  five  min- 
utes. 

When  I  rejoined  them,  Mr.  Slinkton  was  the  first  to  speak. 
Indeed,  he  said  to  me  in  a  raised  voice  before  I  came  up  with 
him  :  "  It  is  well  you  have  not  been  long  ;r,  or  my  niece  might 
have  died  of  curiosity  to  know  who  her  shadow  is,  Mr. 
Sampson." 

"An  old  East  India  Director,"  said  I.  "  An  intimate  friend 
of  our  friend's  at  whose  house  I  first  had  the  pleasure  of  meet- 
ing you.     A  certain  Major  Banks.     You  have  heard  of  him  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"Very  rich,  Miss  Niner;  but  very  old,  and  very  crippled. 
An  amiable  man,  sensible, — much  interested  in  you.  He  has 
just  been  expatiating  on  the  affection  that  he  has  observed  to 
exist  between  you  and  your  uncle." 

Mr.  Slinkton  was  holding  his  hat  again,  and  he  passed  his 
hand  up  the  straight  walk,  as  if  he  himself  went  up  it  serenely, 
after  me. 

"  Mr.  Sampson,"  he  said,  tenderly  pressing  his  niece's  arm 
in  his,  "  our  affection  was  always  a  strong  one,  for  we  have 
had  but  few  near  ties.  We  have  still  fewer  now.  We  have 
associations  to  bring  us  together,  that  are  not  of  this  world, 
Margaret." 

"  Dear  uncle  !  "  murmured  the  young  lady,  and  turned  her 
face  aside  to  hide  her  tears. 

"  My  niece  and  I  have  such  remembrances  and  regrets  in 
common,  Mr.  Simpson,"  he  feelingly  pursued,  "  that  it  would 
be  strange  indeed  if  the  relations  between  us  were  cold  or 
indifferent.  If  I  remember  a  conversation  we  once  had  to- 
gether, you  will  understand  the  reference  I  make.  Cheer  up, 
dear  Margaret.  Don't  droop,  don't  droop.  My  Margaret' 
I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  droop  !  " 

The  poor  young  lady  was  very  much  affected,  but  controlled 


254  HUNTED  DOWN. 

herself.  His  feelings,  too,  were  very  acute.  In  a  word,  he 
found  himself  under  such  great  need  of  a  restorative,  that  he 
presently  went  away,  to  take  a  bath  of  sea-water,  leaving  the 
young  lady  and  me  sitting  by  a  point  of  rock,  and  probably 
presuming — but  that  you  will  say  was  a  pardonable  indulgence 
in  a  luxury — that  she  would  praise  him  with  all  her  heart. 

She  did,  poor  thing !  With  all  her  confiding  heart,  she 
praised  him  to  me,  for  his  care  of  her  dead  sister,  and  for  his 
untiring  devotion  in  her  last  illness.  The  sister  had  wasted 
away  very  slowly,  and  wild  and  terrible  fantasies  had  come  over 
her  toward  the  end,  but  he  had  never  been  impatient  with  her, 
or  at  a  loss  ;  had  always  been  gentle,  watchful,  and  self-pos- 
sessed. The  sister  had  known  him,  as  she  had  known  him,  to 
be  the  best  of  men,  the  kindest  of  men,  and  yet  a  man  of  such 
admirable  strength  of  character,  as  to  be  a  very  tower  for  the 
support  of  their  weak  natures  while  their  poor  lives  endured. 

"I  shall  leave  him,  Mr.  Sampson,  very  soon,"  said  the  young 
lady  ;  "  I  know  my  life  is  drawing  to  an  end  ;  and  when  I  am 
gone,  I  hope  he  will  marry  and  be  happy.  I  am  sure  he 
has  lived  single  so  long,  only  for  my  sake,  and  for  my  poor 
sister's." 

The  little  hand-carriage  had  made  another  great  loop  on  the 
damp  sand,  and  was  coming  back  again,  gradually  spinning 
out  a  slim  figure  of  eight,  half  a  mile  long. 

"  Young  lady,"  said  I,  looking  around,  laying  my  hand  upon 
her  arm,  and  speaking  in  a  low  voice,  "  time  presses.  You 
hear  the  gentle  murmur  of  that  sea?" 

She  looked  at  me  with  the  utmost  wonder  and  alarm,  saying, 

"  Yes  !  " 

"  And  you  know  what  a  voice  is  in  it  when  the  storm 
comes  ?  " 

"  Yes  ! " 

"  You  see  how  quiet  and  peaceful  it  lies  before  us,  and  you 
know  what  an  awful  sight  of  power  without  pity  it  might  be, 
this  very  night !  " 

"  Yes ! " 

"  But  if  you  had  never  heard  or  seen  it,  or  heard  of  it  in  its 
cruelty,  could  you  believe  that  it  beats  every  inanimate  thing 
in  its  way  to  pieces,  without  mercy,  and  destroys  life  without 
remorse  ?  " 

"You  terrify  me,  sir,  by  these  questions!" 

"To  save  you,  young  lady,  to  save  you!  For  God's  sake, 
collect  your  strength  and  collect  your  firmness  !  If  you  were 
here  alone,  and  hemmed  in   by  the  rising  tide  on   the  flow  to 


HUNTED   DOWN. 


255 


fifty  feet  above  your  head,  you  could  not  be  in  greater  danger 
than  the  danger  you  are  now  to  be  saved  from." 

The  figure  on  the  sand  was  spun  out,  and  straggled  off  into 
a  crooked  little  jerk  that  ended  at  the  cliff  very  near  us. 

"As  I  am,  before  Heaven  and  the  Judge  of  all  mankind, 
your  friend,  and  your  dead  sister's  friend,  I  solemnly  entreat 
you,  Miss  Niner,  without  one  moment's  loss  of  time,  to  come 
to  this  gentleman  with  me  ! " 

If  the  little  carriage  had  been  less  near  us,  I  doubt  if  I 
could  have  got  her  away  ;  but  it  was  so  near  that  we  were  there 
before  she  had  recovered  the  hurry  of  being  urged  from  the 
rock.  I  did  not  remain  there  with  her  two  minutes.  Certainly 
within  five,  I  had  the  inexpressible  satisfaction  of  seeing  her — 
from  the  point  we  had  sat  on,  and  to  which  I  had  returned — 
half  supported  and  half  carried  up  some  rude  steps  notched  in 
the  cliff,  by  the  figure  of  an  active  man.  With  that  figure 
beside  her,  I  knew  she  was  safe  anywhere. 

I  sat  alone  on  the  rock,  awaiting  Mr.  Slinkton's  return.  The 
twilight  was  deepening  and  the  shadows  were  heavy,  when  he 
came  round  the  point,  with  his  hat  hanging  at  his  button-hole, 
smoothing  his  wet  hair  with  one  of  his  hands,  and  picking  out 
the  old  path  with  the  other  and  a  pocket-comb. 

"My  n-ece  not  here,  Mr.  Sampson?"  he  said,  looking 
about. 

"  Miss  Niner  seemed  to  feel  a  chill  in  the  air  after  the  sun 
was  down,  and  has  gone  home." 

He  looked  surprised,  as  though  she  were  not  accustomed  to 
do  anything  without  him  ;  even  to  originate  so  slight  a  pro- 
ceeding.     "  I  persuaded  Miss  Niner,"  I  explained. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  he.  "  She  is  easily  persuaded — for  her  good. 
Thank  you,  Mr.  Sampson  ;  she  is  better  within  doors.  The 
bathing-place  was  farther  than  I  thought,  to  say  the  truth." 

"  Miss  Niner  is  very  delicate,"  I  observed. 

He  shook  his  head  and  drew  a  deep  sigh.  "  Very,  very, 
very.  You  may  recollect  my  saying  so.  The  time  that  has 
since  intervened  has  not  strengthened  her.  The  gloomy 
shadow  that  fell  upon  her  sister  so  early  in  life  seems,  in  my 
anxious  eyes,  to  gather  over  her,  ever  darker,  ever  darker. 
Dear  Margaret,  dear  Margaret !     But  we  must  hope." 

The  hand-carriage  was  spinning  away  before  us  at  a  most 
indecorous  pace  for  an  invalid  vehicle,  and  was  making  most 
irregular  curves  upon  the  sand.  Mr.  Slinkton,  noticing  it  after 
ae  had  put  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes,  said, 


256  HUNTED   DOWN. 

"  If  I  may  judge  from  appearances,  your  friend  will  be  upset 
Mr.  Sampson." 

"  It  looks  probable,  certainly,"  said  I. 

"  The  servant  must  be  drunk." 

"The  servants  of  old  gentlemen  will  get  drunk  sometimes,'' 
said  I. 

"The  major  draws  very  light,  Mr.  Sampson." 

"  The  major  does  draw  light,"  said  1. 

By  this  time  the  carriage,  much  to  my  relief,  was  lost  in  the 
darkness.  We  walked  on  for  a  little,  side  by  side  over  the 
sand,  in  silence.  After  a  short  while  he  said,  in  a  voice  still  af- 
fected by  the  emotion  that  his  niece's  state  of  health  had 
awakened  in  him, 

"  Do  you  stay  here  long,  Mr.  Sampson  ?  " 

"  Why,  no.      I  am  going  away  to-night." 

"So  soon  ?  But  business  always  holds  you  in  request.  Men 
like  Mr.  Sampson  are  too  important  to  others,  to  be  spared  to 
their  own  need  of  relaxation  and  enjoyment." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  I.  "  However,  I  am  going 
back." 

"  To  London  ?  " 

"To  London." 

"  I  shall  be  there  too,  soon  after  you." 

I  knew  that  as  well  as  he  did.  But  I  did  not  tell  him  so. 
Any  more  than  I  told  him  what  defensive  weapon  my  right  hand 
rested  on  in  my  pocket,  as  I  walked  by  his  side.  Any  more 
than  1  told  him  why  I  did  not  walk  on  the  sea  side  of  him  with 
the  night  closing  in. 

We  left  the  beach,  and  our  ways  diverged.  We  exchanged 
good  night,  and  had  parted  indeed,  when  he  said,  returning, 

"  Mr.  Sampson,  may  I  ask  ?  Poor  Meltham,  whom  we  spoke 
of, — dead  yet  ?  " 

"  Not  when  I  last  heard  of  him  ;  but  too  broken  a  man  to 
live  long,  and  hopelessly  lost  to  his  old  calling." 

"Dear,  dear,  dear!"  said  he,  with  great  feeling.  "Sad,  sad, 
sad  !     The  world  is  a  grave  !  "     And  so  went  his  way. 

It  was  not  his  fault  if  the  world  were  not  a  grave  ;  but  I  did 
not  call  that  observation  after  him,  any  more  than  I  had  men- 
tioned those  other  things  just  now  enumerated.  He  went  his 
way,  and  I  went  mine  with  all  expedition.  This  happened, 
as  1  have  said,  either  at  the  end  of  September  or  beginning  of 
October.  The  next  time  I  saw  him,  and  the  last  time,  was  late 
in  November. 


HUNTED  DOWN. 


257 


HAD  a  very  particular  engagement  to  breakfast  in  the 
Temple.  It  was  a  bitter  northeasterly  morning,  and 
the  sleet  and  slush  lay  inches  deep  in  the  streets.  I 
881  could  get  no  conveyance,  and  was  soon  wet  to  the 
knees  ;  but  I  should  have  been  true  to  that  appointment  though 
I  had  had  to  wade  to  it  up  to  my  neck  in  the  same  impedi- 
ments. 

The  appointment  took  me  to  some  chambers  in  the  Temple. 
They  were  at  the  top  of  a  lonely  corner  house  overlooking  the 
river.  The 'name,  Mr.  Alfred  Beckwith,  was  painted  on  the 
outer  door.  On  the  opposite  side,  on  the  same  landing,  Mr. 
Julius  Slinkton.  The  doors  of  both  sets  of  chambers  stood 
open,  so  that  anything  said  aloud  in  one  could  be  heard  in  the 
other. 

I  had  never  been  in  those  chambers  before.  They  were  dis- 
mal, close,  unwholesome,  and  oppressive  ;  the  furniture,  origi- 
nally good,  and  not  yet  old,  was  faded  and  dirty, — the  rooms 
were  in  great  disorder  ;  there  was  a  strong  pervading  smell  of 
opium,  brandy,  and  tobacco  ;  the  grate  and  fire-irons  were 
splashed  all  over  with  unsightly  blotches  of  rust ;  and  on  a.sofa 
by  the  fire,  in  the  room  where  breakfast  had  been  prepared, 
lay  the  host,  Mr.  Beckwith,  a  man  with  all  the  appearances  of 
the  worst  kind  of  drunkard,  very  far  advanced  upon  his  shame- 
ful way  to  death. 

"Slinkton  is  not  come  yet,"  said  this  creature,  staggering  up 
when  I  went  in  ;  "  I'll  call  him.  Halloa  !  Julius  Cresar  ! 
Come  and  drink  !  "  As  he-hoarsely  roared  this  out,  he  beat  the 
poker  and  tongs  together  in  a  mad  way,  as  if  that  were  his  usual 
manner  of  summoning  his  associate. 

The  voice  of  Mr.  Slinkton  was  heard  through  the  clatter 
from  the  opposite  side  of  the  staircase,  and  he  came  in.  He  had 
not  expected  the  pleasure  of  meeting  me.  I  have  seen  several 
artful  men  brought  to  a  stand,  but  I  never  saw  a  man  so  aghast 
as  when  his  eyes  rested  on  mine. 

"  Julius  C?esar,"  cried  Beckwith,  staggering  between  us, 
"Mist'  Sampson!  Mist'  Sampson,  Julius  Caesar!  Julius, 
Mist'  Sampson,  is  the  friend  of  my  soul.  Julius  keeps  me  plied 
with  liquor,  morning,  noon,  and  night.  Julius  is  a  real  bene- 
factor. Julius  threw  the  tea  and  coffee  out  of  the  window  when 
I  used  to  have  any.     Julius  empties  all  the  water-jugs  of  their 


258  HUNTED   DOWN. 

contents,  and  fills  'em  with  spirits.  Julius  winds  me  up  and 
keeps  me  going. — Boil  the  brandy,  Julius  !  " 

There  was  a  rusty  and  furred  saucepan  in  the  ashes, — the 
ashes  looked  like  the  accumulation  of  weeks, — and  Beck  with, 
rolling  and  staggering  between  us  as  if  he  were  going  to  plunge 
headlong  into  the  fire,  got  the  saucepan  out,  and  tried  to  force 
it  into  Slinkton's  hand. 

"  Boil  the  brandy,  Julius  Caesar  !  Come!  Do  your  usual 
office. — Boil  the  brandy  !  " 

He  became  so  fierce  in  his  gesticulations  with  the  saucepan, 
that  I  expected  to  see  him  lay  open  Slinkton's  head  with  it.  I 
therefore  put  out  my  hand  to  check  him.  He  reeled  back  to 
the  sofa,  and  sat  there  panting,  shaking  and  red-eyed,  in  his 
rags  of  dressing-gown,  looking  at  us  both.  I  noticed  then  that 
there  was  nothing  to  drink  on  the  table  but  brandy,  and  noth- 
ing to  eat  but  salted  herrings,  and  a  hot,  sickly,  highly  peppered 
stew. 

"At  all  events,  Mr.  Sampson,"  said  Slinkton,  offering  me  the 
smooth  gravel  path  for  the  last  time,  "  I  thank  you  for  interfer- 
ing between  me  and  this  unfortunate  man's  violence.  However 
you  came  here,  Mr.  Sampson,  or  with  whatever  motive  you 
came  here,  at  least  I  thank  you  for  that." 

"  Boil  the  brandy,"  muttered  Beckwith. 

Without  gratifying  his  desire  to  know  how  I  came  there,  I 
said,  quietly,  "  How  is  your  niece,  Mr.  Slinkton  ?  " 

He  looked  hard  at  me,  and  I  looked  hard  at  him. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  Mr.  Sampson,  that  my  niece  has  proved 
treacherous  and  ungrateful  to  her  best  friend.  She  left  me 
without  a  word  of  notice  or  explanation.  She  was  misled,  no 
doubt,  by  some  designing  rascal,  perhaps  you  may  have  heard 
of  it?" 

"  I  did  hear  that  she  was  misled  by  a  designing  rascal,  [n 
fact,  I  have  proof  of  it." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?  "  said  he. 

"Quite." 

"  Boil  the  brandy,"  muttered  Beckwith.  "Company  to  break- 
fast, Julius  Caesar  !  Do  your  usual  office — provide  the  usual 
breakfast,  dinner,   tea,  and  supper. — Boil  the  brandy  ! " 

The  eyes  of  Slinkton  looked  from  him  to  me,  and  he  said, 
after  a  moment's  consideration, 

"  Mr.  Sampson,  you  are  a  man  of  the  world,  and  so  am  I.  I 
will  be  plain  with  you." 

"  O  no,  you  won't,"  said  I,  shaking  my  head. 

"  I  tell  you,  sir,  I  will  be  plain  with  you." 


HUNTED  DOWN.  259 

"And  I  tell  you,  you  will  not,"  said  I.  "  I  know  all  about 
you.      You  plain  with  any  one  ?     Nonsense,  nonsense  !" 

"I  tell  you,  Mr.  Sampson,"  he  went  on,  with  a  manner 
almost  composed,  "  that  1  understand  your  object.  You  want 
to  save  your  funds,  and  escape  from  your  liabilities  ;  these  are 
old  tricks  of  trade  with  you  Office  gentlemen.  But  you  will  not 
do  it,  sir ;  you  will  not  succeed.  You  have  not  an  easy  adver- 
saiv  to  play  against,  when  you  play  against  me.  We  shall  have 
to  inquire,  in  due  lime,  when  and  how  Mr.  Beckwith  fell  into 
his  present  habits.  With  that  remark,  sir,  I  put  this  poor  creat- 
ure and  his  incoherent  wanderings  of  speech,  aside,  and  wish 
you  a  good  morning  and  a  better  case  next  time." 

While  he  was  saying  this,  Beckwith  had  filled  a  half-pint  glass 
with  brandy.  At  this  moment,  he  threw  the  brandy  at  his  face, 
and  threw  the  glass  after  it.  Slinkton  put  his  hands  up,  half 
blinded  with  the  spirit,  and  cut  with  the  glass  across  the  fore- 
head. At  the  sound  of  the  breakage,  a  fourth  person  came  into 
the  room,  closed  the  door,  and  stood  at  it  ;  he  was  a  very  quiet 
but  very  keen  looking  man,  with  iron-gray  hair,  and  slightly 
lame. 

Slinkton  pulled  out  his  handkerchief,  assuaged  the  pain  in 
his  smarting  eyes,  and  dabbled  the  blood  on  his  forehead.  He 
was  a  long  time  about  it,  and  I  saw  that,  in  the  doing  of  it,  a 
tremendous  change  came  over  him,  occasioned  by  the  change 
in  Beckwith, — who  ceased  to  pant  and  tremble,  sat  upright, 
and  never  took  his  eyes  off  him.  I  never  in  my  life  saw  a  face 
in  which  abhorrence  and  determination  were  so  forcibly  painted, 
as  in  Beckwith's  then. 

"Look  at  me,  you  villain,"  said  Beckwith,  "and  see  me  as 
I  really  am.  I  took  these  rooms,  to  make  them  a  trap  for  you. 
I  came  into  them  as  a  drunkard,  to  bait  the  trap  for  you.  You 
fell  into  the  trap,  and  you  will  never  leave  it  alive.  On  the 
morning  when  you  last  went  to  Mr.  Sampson's  office,  I  had 
seen  him  first.  Your  plot  has  been  known  to  both  of  us,  all 
along,  and  you  have  been  counterplotted  all  along.  What  ? 
Having  been  cajoled  into  putting  that  prize  of  two  thousand 
pounds  in  your  power,  I  was  to  be  done  to  death  with  brandy, 
and,  brandy  not  proving  quick  enough,  with  something  quicker? 
Have  I  never  seen  you,  when  you  thought  my  senses  gone, 
pouring  from  your  little  bottle  into  my  glass?  Why,  you  Mur- 
derer and  Forger,  alone  here  with  you  in  the  dead  of  night,  as  I 
have  so  often  been,  I  have  had  my  hand  upon  the  trigger  of  a 
pistol,  twenty  times,  to  blow  your  brains  out  !  " 

This  sudden  starting  up  of  the  thing  that  he  had  supposed 


260  HUNTED   DOWN. 

to  be  his  imbecile  victim  into  a  determined  man,  with  a  settled 
resolution  to  hunt  him  down  and  be  the  death  of  him,  merci- 
lessly expressed  from  head  to  foot,  was  in  the  first  shock  too 
much  for  him.  Without  any  figure  of  speech,  he  staggered 
under  it.  But  there  is  no  greater  mistake  than  to  suppose 
that  a  man  who  is  a  calculating  criminal  is,  in  any  phase  of  his 
guilt,  otherwise  than  true  to  himself  and  perfectly  consistent 
with  his  whole  character.  Such  a  man  commits  murder,  and 
murder  is  the  natural  culmination  of  his  course  ;  such  a  man 
has  to  outface  murder,  and  will  do  it  with  hardihood  and  ef- 
frontery. It  is  a  sort  of  fashion  to  express  surprise  that  any 
notorious  criminal,  having  such  crime  upon  his  conscience,  can 
so  brave  it  out.  Do  you  think  that  if  he  had  it  on  his  con- 
science at  all,  or  had  a  conscience  to  have  it  upon,  he  would 
ever  have  committed  the  crime? 

Perfectly  consistent  with  himself,  as  I  believe  all  such  mon- 
sters to  be,  this  Slinkton  recovered  himself,  and  showed  a  de- 
fiance that  was  sufficiently  cold  and  quiet.  He  was  white,  he 
was  haggard,  he  was  changed  ;  but  only  as  a  sharper  who  had 
played  for  a  great  stake  and  had  been  outwitted  and  had  lost 
the  game. 

"Listen  to  me,  you  villain,"  said  Beckwith,  "and  let  every 
word  you  hear  me  say  be  a  stab  in  your  wicked  heart.  When 
I  took  these  rooms,  to  throw  myself  in  your  way  and  lead  you 
on  to  the  scheme  that  I  knew  my  appearance  and  supposed 
character  and  habits  would  suggest  to  such  a  devil,  how  did  I 
know  that  ?  P>ecause  you  were  no  stranger  to  me.  I  knew 
you  well.  And  I  knew  you  to  be  the  cruel  wretch  who,  for 
so  much  money,  had  killed  one  innocent  girl  while  she  trusted 
him  implicitly,  and  who  was  by  inches  killing  another." 

Slinkton  took  out  a  snuff-box,  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and 
laughed. 

"  But  see  here,"  said  Beckwith,  never  looking  away,  never 
raising  his  voice,  never  relaxing  his  face,  never  unclenching 
his  hand.  "See  whit  a  dull  wolf  you  have  been,  after  all! 
The  infatuated  drunkard  who  never  drank  a  fiftieth  part  of  the 
liquor  you  plied  him  with,  but  poured  it  away,  here,  there, 
everywhere, — almost  before  your  eyes  ;  who  bought  over  l.be 
fellow  you  set  to  watcli  him  and  to  ply  him,  by  outbidding  you 
in  his  bribe,  before  he  had  been  at  his  work  three  days, — with 
whom  you  have  observed  no  caution,  yet  who  was  so  bent  on 
ridding  the  earth  of  you  as  a  wild  beast,  that  he  would  have 
defeated  you  if  you  had  been  ever  so  prudent, — that  drunkard 
whom  you  have,  many  a  time,  left  on  the  floor  of  this  room, 


HUNTED   DOWN.  26l 

and  who  has  even  let  you  go  out  of  it,  alive  and  undeceived, 
when  you  have  turned  him  over  with  your  foot, — has,  almost  as 
often,  on  the  same  night,  within  an  hour,  within  a  few  minutes, 
watched  you  awake,  had  his  hand  at  your  pillow  when  you  were 
asleep,  turned  over  your  papers,  taken  samples  from  your  bot- 
tles and  packets  of  powder,  changed  their  contents,  rifled  every 
secret  of  your  life  !  " 

He  had  had  another  pinch  of  snuff  in  his  hand,  but  had  grad- 
ually let  it  drop  from  between  his  fingers  to  the  floor  ;  where 
he  now  smoothed  out  with  his  foot,  looking  down  at  it  the 
while. 

"  That  drunkard,"  said  Beckwith,  "  who  had  free  access  to 
your  rooms  at  all  times,  that  he  might  drink  the  strong  drinks 
that  you  left  in  his  way  and  be  the  sooner  ended,  holding  no 
more  terms  with  you  than  he  would  hold  with  a  tiger,  has  had  his 
master-key  for  all  your  locks,  his  test  for  all  your  poisons,  his 
clew  to  your  cipher-writing.  He  can  tell  you.  as  well  as  you  can 
tell  him,  how  long  it  took  to  complete  that  deed,  what  doses 
there  were,  what  intervals,  what  signs  of  gradual  decay  upon 
mind  and  body  ;  what  distempered  fancies  were  produced,  what 
observable  changes,  what  physical  pain.  He  can  tell  you  as 
well  as  I  can  tell  him,  that  all  this  was  recorded  day  by  day,  as 
a  lesson  of  experience  for  future  service.  He  can  tell  you, 
better  than  you  can  tell  him,  where  that  journal  is  at  this  mo- 
ment." 

Slinkton  stopped  the  action  of  his  foot,  and  looked  at  Beck- 
with. 

"  No,"  said  the  latter,  as  if  answering  a  question  from  him. 
"  Not  in  the  drawer  of  the  writing-desk  that  opens  with  the 
spring  ;  it  is  not  there,  and  it  never  will  be  there  again." 

"Then  you  are  a  thief!  "  said  Slinkton. 

Without  any  change  whatever  in  the  inflexible  purpose,  which 
it  was  terrific  even  to  me  to  contemplate,  and  from  the  power 
of  which  I  had  always  felt  convinced  it  was  impossible  for  this 
wretch  to  escape,  Beckwith  returned, 

"  And  I  am  your  niece's  shadow,  too." 

With  an  imprecation,  Slinkton  put  his  hand  to  his  head,  tore 
out  some  hair,  and  flung  it  to  the  ground.  It  was  the  end  of 
the  smooth  walk  ;  he  destroyed  it  in  the  action,  and  it  will  soon 
be  seen  that  his  use  for  it  was  past. 

Beckwith  went  on:  "Whenever  you  left  here,  I  left  here. 
Although  I  understood  that  you  found  it  necessary  to  pause  in 
the  completion  of  that  purpose,  to  avert  suspicion,  still  I  watched 
you  close,  with  the  poor,  confiding  girl.     VVhen  I  had  the  diary, 


262  HUNTED   DOWN. 

and  could  read  it  word  by  word, — it  was  only  about  the  night 
before  your  last  visit  to  Scarborough, — you  remember  the 
night?  you  slept  with  a  small  flat  vial  tied  to  your  wrist, — I 
sent  to  Mr.  Sampson,  who  was  kept  out  of  view.  This  is  Mr. 
Sampson's  trusty  servant  standing  by  the  door.  We  three  saved 
your  niece  among  us." 

Slinkton  looked  at  us  all,  took  an  uncertain  step  or  two  from 
the  place  where  he  had  stood,  returned  to  it,  and  glanced  about 
him  in  a  very  curious  way, — as  one  of  the  meaner  reptiles 
might,  looking  for  a  hole  to  hide  in.  I  noticed  at  the  same 
time,  that  a  singular  change  took  place  in  the  figure  of  the  man, 
— as  if  it  collapsed  within  his  clothes,  and  they  consequently 
became  ill-shapen  and  ill-fitting. 

"You  shall  know,"  said  Beckvvith,  "for  I  hope  the  knowledge 
will  be  bitter  and  terrible  to  you,  why  you  have  been  pursued 
by  one  man,  and  why,  when  the  whole  interest  that  Mr.  Samp- 
son represents  would  have  expended  any  money  in  hunting  you 
down,  you  have  been  tracked  to  death  at  a  single  individual's 
charge.  I  hear  you  have  had  the  name  -of  Meltham  on  your 
lips  sometimes  ?" 

I  saw,  in  addition  to  those  other  changes,  a  sudden  stoppage 
come  upon  his  breathing. 

"  When  you  sent  the  sweet  girl  whom  you  murdered  (you 
know  with  what  artfully  made-out  surroundings  and  probabili- 
ties you  sent  her)  to  Meltham's  office,  before  taking  her  abroad 
to  originate  the  transaction  that  doomed  her  to  the  grave,  it  fell 
to  Meltham's  lot  to  see  her  and  to  speak  with  her.  It  did  not 
fall  to  his  lot  to  save  her,  though  1  know  he  would  freely  give 
his  own  life  to  have  done  it.  He  admired  her ; — I  would  say, 
he  loved  her  deeply,  if  I  thought  it  possible  that  you  could 
understand  the  word.  When  she  was  sacrificed,  he  was 
thoroughly  assured  of  your  guilt.  Having  lost  her,  he  had  but  one 
object  left  in  life,  and  that  was  to  avenge  her  and  destroy  you." 

J  saw  the  villain's  nostrils  rise  and  fall,  convulsively ;  but  I 
saw  no  moving  at  his  mouth. 

"  That  man,  Meltham,"  Beckwith  steadily  pursued,  "  was  as 
absolutely  certain  that  you  could  never  elude  him  in  this  world, 
if  he  devoted  himself  to  your  destruction  with  his  utmost 
fidelity  and  earnestness,  and  if  he  divided  the  sacred  duty  with 
no  other  duty  in  life,  as  he  was  certain  that  in  achieving  it  he 
would  be  a  poor  instrument  in  the  hands  of  Providence,  and 
would  do  well  before  Heaven  in  striking  you  out  from  among 
living  men.  I  am  that  man,  and  I  thank  God  that  I  have  done 
my  work  ! " 


HUNTED   DOWN. 


263 


If  Slinkton  had  been  running  for  his  life  from  swift-footed 
savages,  a  dozen  miles,  he  could  not  have  shown  more  em- 
phatic signs  of  being  oppressed  at  heart  and  labouring  for  breath, 
than  he  showed  now,  when  he  looked  at  the  pursuer  who  had 
so  relentlessly  hunted  him  down. 

"  You  never  saw  me  under  my  right  name  before  ;  you  see 
me  under  my  right  name  now.  You  shall  see  me  once  again 
in  the  body,  when  you  are  tried  for  your  life.  You  shall  see 
me  once  again  in  the  spirit,  when  the  cord  is  round  your  neck, 
and  the  crowd  are  crying  against  you  !  " 

When  Meltham  had  spoken  these  last  words,  the  miscreant 
suddenly  turned  away  his  face,  and  seemed  to  strike  his  mouth 
with  his  open  hand.  At  the  same  instant,  the  room  was  filled 
with  a  new  and  powerful  odour,  and,  almost  at  the  same  instant, 
he  broke  into  a  crooked  run,  leap,  start, — I  have  no  name  for 
the  spasm, — and  fell,  with  a  dull  weight  that  shook  the  heavy 
old  doors  and  windows  in  their  frames. 

That  was  the  fitting  end  of  him. 

When  we  saw  that  he  was  dead,  we  drew  away  from  the 
room,  and  Meltham,  giving  me  his  hand,  said  with  a  weary 
air, — 

"  I  have  no  more  work  on  earth,  my  friend.  But  I  shall  see 
her  again  elsewhere." 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  tried  to  rally  him.  He  might  have 
saved  her,  he  said  ;  he  had  not  saved  her,  and  he  reproached 
himself;  he  had  lost  her,  and  he  was  broken-hearted. 

"  The  purpose  that  sustained  me  is  over,  Sampson,  and  there 
is  nothing  now  to  hold  me  to  life.  1  am  not  fit  for  life  ;  I  am 
weak  and  spiritless  ;  I  have  no  hope  and  no  object ;  my  day 
is  done." 

In  truth,  I  could  hardly  have  believed  that  the  broken  man 
who  then  spoke  to  me  was  the  man  who  had  so  strongly  and 
so  differently  impressed  me  when  his  purpose  was  before  him. 
I  used  such  entreaties  with  him  as  I  could  ;  but  he  still  said, 
and  always  said,  in  a  patient,  undemonstrative  way, — nothing 
could  avail  him, — he  was  broken-hearted. 

He  died  early  in  the  next  spring.  He  was  buried  by  the 
side  of  the  poor  young  lady  for  whom  he  had  cherished  those 
tender  and  unhappy  regrets  ;  and  he  left  all  that  he  had  to  her 
sister.  She  lived  to  be  a  happy  wife  and  mother  ;  she  married 
my  sister's  son,  who  succeeded  poor  Meltham  ;  she  is  living 
now,  and  her  children  ride  about  the  garden  on  my  walking- 
stick  when  I  go  to  see  her. 


A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE   SEA. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The   Village. 


ND  a  mighty  sing'lar  and  pretty  place  it  is,  as  ever  I 
saw  in  all  the  days  of  my  life  !  "  said  Captain  Jorgan, 
looking  tip  at  it. 

Captain  Jorgan  had  to  look  high  to  look  at  it,  for 
the  visage  was  built  sheer  up  the  face  of  a  steep  and  lofty  cliff. 
There  was  no  road  to  it,  there  was  no  wheeled  vehicle  in  it, 
there  was  not  a' level  yard  in  it.  From  the  sea-beach  to  the 
cliff-top  two  irregular  rows  of  white  houses,  placed  opposite  to 
one  another,  and  twisting  here  and  there,  and  there  and  here, 
rose,  like  the  sides  of  a  long  succession  of  stages  of  crooked 
ladders,  and  you  climbed  up  the  village  or  climbed  down  the 
village  by  the  staves  between,  some  six  feet  wide  or  so,  and 
made  of  sharp  irregular  stones.  The  old  pack-saddle,  long  laid 
aside  in  most  parts  of  England  as  one  of  the  appendages  of  its 
infancy,  flourished  here  intact.  Strings  of  pack-horses  and 
pack-donkeys  toiled  slowly  up  the  staves  of  the  ladders,  bear- 
ing fish,  and  coal,  and  other  such  cargo  as  was  unshipping  at 
the  pier  from  the  dancing  fleet  of  village  boats,  and  from  two 
or  three  little  coasting  traders.  As  the  beasts  of  burden  as- 
cended laden,  or  descended  light,  they  got  so  lost  at  intervals 
in  the  floating  clouds  of  village  smoke,  that  they  seemed  to  dive 
down  some  of  the  village  chimneys,  and  come  to  the  surface 
again  far  off,  high  above  others.  No  two  houses  in  the  village 
were  alike,  in  chimney,  size,  shape,  door,  window,  gable,  roof- 
tree,  anything.  The  sides  of  the  ladders  were  musical  with 
water,  running  clear  and  bright.  The  staves  were  musical  with 
the  clattering  feet  of  the  pack-horses  and  pack-donkeys,  and 
the  voices  of  the  fishermen  urging  them  up,  mingled  with  the 
voices  of  the  fishermen's  wives  and  their  many  children.     The 


THE    VILLAGE. 


265 


pier  was  musical  with  the  wash  of  the  sea,  the  creaking  of  cap- 
stans and  windlasses,  and  the  airy  fluttering  of  little  vanes  and 
sails.  The  rough,  sea-bleached  boulders  of  which  the  pier  was 
made,  and  the  whiter  boulders  of  the  shore,  were  brown  with 
drying  nets.  The  red-brown  cliffs,  richly  wooded  to  their  ex- 
t  rem  est  verge,  had  their  softened  and  beautiful  forms  reflected 
in  the  bluest  water,  under  the  clear  North  Devonshire  sky  of  a 
November  day  without  a  cloud.  The  village  itself  was  so 
steeped  in  autumnal  foliage,  from  the  houses  lying  on  the  pier 
to  the  topmost  round  of  the  topmost  ladder,  that  one  might 
have  fancied  it  was  out  a  birds' -nesting,  and  was  (as  indeed  it 
was)  a  wonderful  climber.  And  mentioning  birds,  the  place 
was  not  without  some  music  from  them  too  ;  for  the  rook  was 
very  busy  on  the  higher  levels,  and  the  gull  with  his  flapping 
wings  was  fishing  in  the  bay,  and  the  lusty  little  robin  was  hop- 
ping among  the  great  stone  blocks  and  iron  rings  of  the  break- 
water, fearless  in  the  faith  of  his  ancestors,  and  the  Children  in 
the  Wood. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  Captain  Jorgan,  sitting  balancing 
himself  on  the  pier-wall,  struck  his  leg  with  his  open  ha 'id,  as 
some  men  do  when  they  are  pleased — and  as  he  always  did 
when  he  was  pleased — and  said, — 

"A  mighty  sing'lar  and  pretty  place  it  is,  as  ever  I  saw  in  all 
the  days  of  my  life  !  " 

Captain  Jorgan  had  not  been  through  the  village,  but  had 
come  down  to  the  pier  by  a  winding  side-road,  to  have  a  pre- 
liminary look  at  it  from  the  level  of  his  own  natural  element. 
He  had  seen  many  things  and  places,  and  had  stowed  them  all 
away  in  a  shrewd  intellect  and  a  vigorous  memory.  He  was 
an  American  born,  was  Captain  Jorgan, — a  new  Englander, — 
but  he  was  a  citizen  of  the  world,  and  a  combination  of  most  of 
the  best  qualities  of  most  of  its  best  countries. 

For  Captain  Jorgan  to  sit  anywhere  in  his  long-skirted  blue 
coat  and  blue  trousers,  without  holding  converse  with  every- 
body within  speaking  distance,  was  a  sheer  impossibility.  So 
the  captain  fell  to  talking  with  the  fishermen,  and  to  asking  them 
knowing  questions  about  the  fishery,  and  the  tides,  and  the  cur- 
rents, and  the  race  of  water  off  that  point  yonder,  and  what  you 
kept  in  your  eye,  and  got  into  a  line  with  what  else  when  you 
ran  into  the  little  harbour  ;  and  other  nautical  profundities. 
Among  the  men  who  exchanged  ideas  with  the  Captain  was  a 
young  fellow,  who  exactly  hit  his  fancy, — a  young  fisherman 
of  two  or  three-and-twenty,  in  the  rough  sea-dress  of  his  craft, 
with  a  brown  face,  dark  curling  hair,  and  bright  modest  eyes 
12 


266  A    MESSAGE    FROM    THE   SEA. 

under  his  Sou'wester  hat,  and  with  a  frank,  but  simple  and  re- 
tiring manner,  which  the  Captain  found  uncommonly  taking. 
"I'd  bet  a  thousand  dollars,"  said  the  Captain  to  himself,  "that 
your  father  was  an  honest  man  ! " 

"  Might  you  be  married  now  ?  "  asked  the  captain,  when  he 
had  had  some  talk  with  this  new  acquaintance. 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Going  to  be  ?  "  said  the  captain. 

"  I  hope  so." 

The  captain's  keen  glance  followed  the  slightest  possible  turn 
of  the  dark  eye,  and  the  slightest  possible  tilt  of  the  Sou'wester 
hat.  The  captain  then  slapped  both  his  legs,  and  said  to  him- 
self, 

"  Never  knew  such  a  good  thing  in  all  my  life  !  There's  his 
sweetheart  looking  over  the  wall  !  " 

There  was  a  very  pretty  girl  looking  over  the  wall,  from  a 
little  platform  of  cottage,  vine,  and  fuchsia ;  and  she  certainly 
did  not  look  as  if  the  presence  of  that  young  fisherman  in  the 
landscape  made  it  any  the  less  sunny  and  hopeful  for  her. 

Captain  Jorgan,  having  doubled  himself  up  to  laugh  with  that 
hearty  good-nature  which  is  quite  exultant  in  the  innocent  happi- 
ness of  other  people,  had  undoubled  himself,  and  was  going  to 
start  a  new  subject,  when  there  appeared  coming  down  the 
lower  ladders  of  stones,  a  man  whom  he  hailed  as  "  Tom  Pett'i- 
fer,  Ho  !  "  Tom  Pettifer,  Ho,  responded  with  alacrity,  and  in 
speedy  course  descended  on  the  pier. 

"Afraid  of  a  sun-stroke  in  England  in  November,  Tom,  that 
you  wear  your  tropical  hat,  strongly  paid  outside  and  paper-lined 
inside,  here  ?  "  said  the  captain,  eyeing  it. 

"  It's  as  well  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  sir,"  replied  Tom. 

"  Safe  side  !  "  repeated  the  captain,  laughing.  "  You'd 
guard  against  a  sun  stroke,  with  that  old  hat,  in  an  Ice  Pack. 
Wa'al  !     What  have  you  made  out  at  the  Post-office  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  Post-office,  sir." 

"  What's  the  Post-office  ?  "  said  the  captain. 

"  The  name,  sir.     The  name  keeps  the  Post-office." 

"  A  coincidence  !  "  said  the  captain.  "  A  lucky  hit  !  Show  me 
where  it  is.  Good-by,  shipmates,  for  the  present !  I  shall  come 
and  have  another  look  at  you,  afore  I  leave,  this  afternoon." 

This  was  addressed  to  all  there,  but  especially  the  young 
fisherman  ;  so  all  .there  acknowledged  it,  but  especially  the 
young  fisherman.  "  He 's  a  sailor  ! "  said  one  to  another,  as 
they  looked  after  the  captain  moving  away.  That  he  was  ;  and 
so  outspeaking  was  the  sailor  in  him,  that  although  his  dress  had 


THE    VILLAGE. 


267 


nothing  nautical  about  it,  with  the  single  exception  of  its  colour, 
but  was  a  suit  of  a  shoregoing  shape  and  form,  too  long  in  the 
sleeves  and  too  short  in  the  legs,  and  too  unaccommodating 
everywhere,  terminating  earthward  in  a  pair  of  Wellington  boots, 
and  surmounted  by  a  tall,  stiff  hat,  which  no  mortal  could  have 
worn  at  sea  in  any  wind  under  heaven  ;  nevertheless,  a  glimpse 
of  his  sagacious,  weather-beaten  face,  or  his  strong,  brown  hand, 
would  have  established  the  captain's  calling.  Whereas  Mr. 
Pettifer — a  man  of  a  certain  plump  neatness,  with  a  curly 
whisker,  and  elaborately  nautical  in  a  jacket,  and  shoes,  and  all 
things  correspondent — looked  no  more  like  a  seaman,  beside 
Captain  Jorgan,  than  he  looked  like  a  sea-serpent. 
w-  The  two  climbed  high  up  the  village, — which  had  the  most  ar- 
bitrary turns  and  twists  in  it,  so  that  the  cobbler's  house  came 
dead  across  the  ladder,  and  to  have  held  a  reasonable  course, 
you  must  have  gone  through  his  house,  and  through  him  too,  as 
he  sat  at  his  work  between  two  little  windows,  with  one  eye 
microscopically  on  the  geological  formation  of  that  part  of  Devon- 
shire, and  the  other  telescopically  on  the  open  sea, — the  two 
climped  high  up  the  village,  and  stopped  before  a  quaint  little 
house,  on  which  was  painted,  "Mrs.  Raybrock,  Draper"; 
and  also  "  Post-office."  Before  it,  ran  a  rill  of  murmuring 
water  and  access  to  it  was  gained  by  a  little  plank-ridge. 

"  Here's  the  name,"  said  Captain  Jorgan,  "  sure  enough. 
You  can  come  in  if  you  like,  Tom." 

The  captain  opened  the  door,  and  passed  into  an  odd  little 
shop,  about  six  feet  high,  with  a  great  variety  of  beams  and 
bumps  in  the  ceiling,  and,  besides  the  principal  window  giving 
on  the  ladder  of  stones,  a  purblind  little  window  of  a  single 
pane  of  glass,  peeping  out  of  an  abutting  corner  at  the  sun- 
lighted  ocean,  and  winking  at  its  brightness. 

"  How  do  you  do,  ma'am  ?  "  said  the  captain.  "  I  am  very 
glad  to  see  you.      I  have  come  a  long  way  to  see  you." 

"  Have  you,  sir  ?  Then  I  am  sure  1  am  very  glad  to  see 
'you,  though  I  don't  know  you  from  Adam." 

Thus  a  comely  elderly  woman,  short  of  stature,  plump  of 
form,  sparkling  and  dark  of  eye,  who,  perfectly  clean  and  neat 
herself,  stood  in  the  midst  of  her  perfectly  clean  and  neat  ar- 
rangements, and  surveyed  Captain  Jorgan  with  smiling  curios- 
ity. "  Ah  !  but  you  are  a  sailor,  sir,"  she  added  almost  imme- 
diately, and  with  a  slight  movement  of  her  hands,  that  was  not 
very  unlike  wringing  them  ;   "  then  you  are  heartily  welcome." 

"Thank'ee,  ma'am,"  said  the  captain.  "  I  don't  know  what 
it  is,  I  am  sure,  that  brings  out  the  salt  in  me,  but  everybody 


268  A    MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

seems  to  see  it  on  the  crown  of  my  hat  and  the  collar  of  my 
coat.     Yes,  ma'am,  I  am  in  that  way  of  life." 

"And  the  other  gentleman,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Raybrock. 

"  Well  now,  ma'am,"  said  the  captain,  glancing  shrewdly  at 
the  other  gentleman,  "you  are  that  nigh  right,  that  he  goes  to 
mil — if  that  makes  him  a  sailor.  This  is  my  steward,  ma'am, 
Tern  Pettifer  ;  lie's  been  a' most  all  trades  you  could  name,  in 
the  course  of  his  life, — would  have  bought  all  your  chairs  and 
tal  il  -s  once,  if  you  had  wished  to  sell 'em, — but  now  he's  my 
steward.  My  name's  Jorgan,  and  I'm  a  ship-owner,  and  I  sail 
my  own  and  my  partners' ships,  and  have  done  so  this  five-and- 
twenty  year.  According  to  custom  I  am  called  Captain  Jorgan, 
but  I  am  no  more  a  captain,  bless  my  heart !  than  you  are." 

"  Perhaps  you*  11  come  into  my  parlour,  sir,  and  take  a 
chair  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Raybrock. 

"  Ex-actly  what  I  was  going  to  propose  myself,  ma'am.  After 
you." 

Thus  replying,  and  enjoining  Tom  to  give  an  eye  to  the 
shop,  Captain  Jorgan  followed  Mrs.  Raybrock  into  the  little, 
low  back-room, — decorated  with  divers  plants  in  pots,  tea- 
trays,  old  china  teapots,  and  punch-bowls,  which  was  at  once 
the  private  sitting-room  of  the  Raybrock  family  and  the  inner 
cabinet  of  the  post-office  of  the  village  of  Steepways. 

"  Now,  ma'am,"  said  the  captain,  "it  don't  signify  a  cent  to 
you  where  I  was  born,  except — "  But  here  the  shadow  of 
some  one  entering  fell  upon  the  captain's  figure,  and  he  broke 
off  to  double  himself  up,  slap  both  his  legs,  and  ejaculate, 
"  Never  knew  such  a  thing  in  all  my  life  !  Here  he  is  again  ! 
Plow  are  you  ?  'ij 

These  words  referred  to  the  young  fellow  who  had  so  taken 
Captain  Jorgan's  fancy  down  at  the  pier.  To  make  it  all  quite 
complete  he  came  in  accompanied  by  the  sweetheart  whom  the 
captain  had  detected  looking  over  the  wall.  A  prettier  sweet- 
heart the  sun  could  not  have  shone  upon  that  shining  day.  As 
she  stood  before  the  captain,  with  her  rosy  lips  just  parted  in 
surprise,  her  brown  eyes  a  little  wider  open  than  was  usual 
from  the  same  cause,  and  her  breathing  a  little  quickened  by 
the  ascent  (and  possibly  by  some  mysterious  huRry  and  flurry 
at  the  parlour  door,  in  which  the  captain  had  observed  her  face 
to  be  for  a  moment  totally  eclipsed  by  the  Sou'wester  hat),  she 
looked  so  charming;  that  the  captain  felt  himself  under  a  moral 
obligation  to  slap  both  his  legs  again.  She  was  very  simply 
dressed,  with  no  other  ornament  than  an  autumnal  flower  in 
her  bosom.     She  wore  neither  hat  nor  bonnet,  but  merely  a 


THE    VILLAGE. 


269 


scarf  or  kerchief  folded  squarely  back  over  the  head,  to 
keep  the  sun  off, — according  to  a  fashion  that  may  be  some- 
times seen  in  the  more  genial  parts  of  England  as  well  as  of 
Italy,  and  which  is  probably  the  first  fashion  of  headdress  that 
came  into  the  world  when  glasses  and  leaves  went  out. 

"  In  my  country,"  said  the  captain,  rising  to  give  her  !,;s 
chair,  and  dexterously  sliding  it  close  to  another  chair  on  winch 
the  young  fisherman  must  necessarily  establish  himself,  — "  in 
my  country  we  call  Devonshire  beauty  first-rate  !  '* 

Whenever  a  frank  manner  is  offensive,  it  is  because  it  is 
strained  or  feigned  ;  for  there  may  be-quite  as  much  intolerable 
affectation  in  plainness  as  in  mincing  nicety.  All  that  the  cap- 
tain said  and  did  was  honestly  according  to  his  nature  ;  and 
his  nature  was  open  nature  and  good  nature  ;  therefore, 
when  he  paid  this  little  compliment,  and  expressed  with  a 
sparkle  or  two  of  his  knowing  eye,  "  I  see  how  it  is,  and  noth- 
ing could  be  better,"  he  had  established  a  delicate  confidence 
on  that  subject  with  the  family. 

"  I  was  saying  to  your  worthy  mother,"  said  the  captain  to 
the  young  man,  after  again  introducing  himself  by  name  and 
occupation, — "  I  was  saying  to  your  mother  (and  you're  very 
like  her)  that  it  didn't  signify  where  I  was  born,  except  that  I 
was  raised  on  question-asking  ground,  where  the  babies  as  soon 
as  ever  they  come  into  the  world,  inquire  of  their  mothers, 
'  Neow,  how  old  may  you  be,  and  wa'at  air  you  a  goin'  to  name 
me?' — which  is  a  fact."  Here  he  slapped  his  leg.  "Such  be- 
ing the  case,  1  may  be  excused  for  asking  you  if  your  name's 
Alfred  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  my  name  is  Alfred,"  returned  the  young  man. 

"I  am  not  a  conjurer,"  pursued  the  captain,  "and  don't 
think  me  so,  or  I  shall  right  soon  undeceive  you.  Likewise 
don't  think,  if  you  please,  though  I  do  come  from  that  country 
of  the  babies,  that  I  am  asking  questions  for  question-asking's 
sake,  for  I  am  not.  Somebody  belonging  to  you  went  to 
sea?  " 

"My  elder  brother,  Hugh,"  returned  the  young  man.  He 
said  it  in  an  altered  and  lower  voice,  and  glanced  at  his  mother, 
who  raised  her  hands  hurriedly,  and  put  them  together  across 
her  black  gown,  and  looked  eagerly  at  the  visitor. 

"  No  !  For  God's  sake,  don't  think  that  !  "  said  the  captain, 
in  a  solemn  way  ;   "  I  bring  no  good  tidings  of  him." 

There  was  a  silence,  and  the  mother  turned  her  face  to  the 
fire  and  put  her  hand  between  it  and  her  eyes.  The  young 
fisherman  slightly  motioned  toward  the  window,  and  the  cap- 


270 


A  MESSAGE  FROM  THE  SEA.^ 


tain,  looking  in  that  direction,  saw  a  young  widow,  sitting  at  a 
neighbouring  window  across  a  little  garden,  engaged  in  needle- 
work, with  a  young  child  sleeping  on  her  bosom.  The  silence 
continued  until  the  captain  asked  of  Alfred, 

"  How  long  is  it  since  it  happened  ?  " 

"  He  shipped  for  his  last  voyage  better  than  three  years 
ago." 

"Ship  struck  upon  some  reef  or  rock,  as  I  take  it,"  said  the 
captain,  "and  all  hands  lost  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"\Va'al!"  said  the  captain,  after  a  shorter  silence,  "here  I 
sit  who  may  come  to  the  same  end,  like  enough.  He  holds  the 
seas  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand.  We  must  all  strike  somewhere 
and  go  down.  Oar  comfort,  then,  for  ourselves  and  one  an- 
other is  to  have  done  our  duty.  I'd  wager  your  brother  did 
his ! " 

"  He  did  !  "  answered  the  young  fisherman.  "  If  ever  man 
strove  faithfully  on  all  occasions  to  do  his  duty,  my  brother  did. 
My  brother  was  not  a  quick  man  (anything  but  that),  but  he  was 
a  faithful,  true,  and  just  man.  We  were  the  sons  of  only  a 
small  tradesman  in  this  country,  sir  ;  yet  our  father  was  as 
watchful  of  his  good  name  as  if  he  had  been  a  king." 

"A  precious  sight  more  so,  I  hope, — -bearing  in  mind  the 
general  run  of  that  class  of  crittur,"  said  the  captain.  "But  I 
interrupt." 

"  My  brother  considered  that  our  father  left  the  good  name 
to  us,  to  keep  clear  and  true." 

"  Your  brother  considered  right,"  said  the  captain  ;  "  and 
you  couldn't  take  care  of  a  better  legacy.  But  again  I  inter- 
rupt." 

"  No  ;  for  I  have  nothing  more  to  say.  We  know  that  Hugh 
lived  well  for  the  good  name,  and  we  feel  certain  that  he  died 
well  for  the  good  name.  And  now  it  has  come  into  my  keep- 
ing.    And  that's  all." 

"  Well  spoken  !  "  cried  the  captain.  "  Well  spoken,  young 
man  !  Concerning  the  manner  of  your  brother's  death," — by 
this  time  the  captain  had  released  the  hand  he  had  shaken,  and 
sat  with  his  own  broad,  brown  hands  spread  out  on  his  knees, 
and  spoke  aside, — "concerning  the  manner  of  your  brother's 
death,  it  may  be  that  I  have  some  information  to  give  you ; 
though  it  may  not  be,  for  I  am  far  from  sure.  Can  we  have  a 
little  talk  alone  ?  " 

The  young  man  rose  ;  but  not  before  the  captain's  quick  eye 
had  noticed  that,  on  the  pretty  sweetheart's  turning  to  the  win- 


THE  MONEY. 


271 


dow  to  greet  the  young  widow  with  a  nod  and  wave  of  the 
hand,  the  young  widow  had  held  up  to  her  the  needle-work 
on  which  she  was  engaged,  with  a  patient  and  pleasant  smile. 
So  the  captain  said,  being  on  his  legs, 

"  What  might  she  be  making  now  ?" 

"  What  is  Margaret  making,  Kitty  ?  "  asked  the  young  fisher- 
man,— with  one  of  his  arms  apparently  mislaid  somewhere. 

As  Kitty  only  blushed  in  reply,  the  captain  doubled  himself 
up  as  far  as  he  could,  standing,  and  said,  with  a  slap  of  his 
lee, 

'l  In  my  country  we  should  call  it  wedding-clothes.  Fact ! 
We  should,  1  do  assure  you." 

But  it  seemed  to  strike  the  captain  in  another  light  too  ;  for 
his  laugh  was  not  a  long  one,  and  he  added,  in  quite  a  gentle 
tone, 

"  And  it's  very  pretty,  my  dear,  to  see  her — poor  young 
thing,  with  her  fatherless  child  upon  her  bosom — giving  up  her 
thoughts  to  your  home  and  your  happiness.  It's  very  pretty, 
my  dear,  and  it's  very  good.  May  your  marriage  be  more  pros- 
perous than  hers,  and  be  a  comfort  to  her  too.  May  the 
blessed  sun  see  you  all  happy  together,  in  possession  of  the 
good  name,  long  after  I  have  done  ploughing  the  great  salt 
held  that  is  never  sown  !  " 

Kitty  answered  very  earnestly,  "  Oh  !  Thank  you,  sir,  with 
all  my  heart ! "  And,  in  her  loving  little  way,  kissed  her  hand  to 
him,  and  possibly  by  implication  to  the  young  fisherman,  too, 
as  the  latter  held  the  parlour  door  open  for  the  captain  to  pass 
out. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  Money. 


HE  stairs  are  very  narrow,  sir,"  said  Raybrock  to  Cap- 
tain Jorgan. 

"  Like  my  cabin-stairs,"  returned  the  captain,  "  on 
many  a  voyage." 
"  And  they  are  rather  inconvenient  for  the  head." 
"  If  my  head  can't  take  care  of  itself  by  this  time,  after  all 
the  knocking  about  the  world  it  has  had,"  replied  the  captain, 
as  unconcernedly  as  if  he  had  no  connection  with  it,  "  it's  not 
worth  looking  after." 


272  A   MESSAGE  FROM  THE  SEA. 

Thus  they  came  into  the  young  fisherman's  bedroom,  which 
was  as  perfectly  neat  and  clean  as  the  shop  and  parlour  below  ; 
though  it  was  but  a  little  place,  with  a  sliding  window,  and  a 
phrenological  ceiling  expressive  of  all  the  peculiarities  of  the 
house-roof.  Here  the  captain  sat  down  on  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
and,  glancing  at  a  dreadful  libel  on  Kitty  which  ornamented  the 
wall, — the  production  of  some  wandering  limner,  whom  the 
captain  secretly  admired,  as  having  studied  portraiture  from  the 
figure-heads  of  ships, — motioned  to  the  young  man  to  take  the 
rush-chair  on  the  other  side  of  the  small,  round  table.  That 
done,  the  captain  put  his  hand  in  the  deep  breast-pocket  of  his 
long-skirted  blue  coat,  and  took  out  of  it  a  strong  square  case- 
bottle, — not  a  large  bottle,  but  such  as  may  be  seen  in  any  or- 
dinary ship's  medicine  chest.  Setting  this  bottle  on  the  table 
without  removing  his  hand  from  it,  Captain  Jorgan  then  spake 
as  follows  : 

"  In  my  last  voyage  homeward-bound,"  said  the  captain, 
"and  that's  the  voyage  off  of  which  I  now  come  straight,  I  en- 
countered such  weather  off  the  Horn  as  is  not  very  often  met 
with,  even  there.  I  have  rounded  that  stormy  Cape  pretty 
often,  and  I  believe  I  first  beat  about  there  in  the  identical 
storms  that  blew  the  Devil's  horns  and  tail  off,  and  led  to  the 
horns  being  worked  up  into  tooth-picks  for  the  plantation  over- 
seers in  my  country,  who  may  be  seen  (if  you  travel  down 
South,  or  away  West,  fur  enough)  picking  their  teeth  with  'em, 
while  the  whips,  made  of  the  tail,  tlog  hard.  In  this  last  voyage, 
homeward-bound  for  Liverpool  from  South  America,  I  say  to 
you,  my  young  friend,  it  blew.  Whole  measures  !  No  half 
measures,  nor  making  believe  to  blow  ;  it  blew  !  Now  I  warn't 
blown  clean  out  of  the  water  into  the  sky, — though  I  expected 
to  be  even  that, — but  I  was  blown  clean  out  of  my  course  ;  and 
when  at  last  it  fell  calm,  it  fell  dead  calm,  and  a  strong  current 
set  one  way,  day  and  night,  night  and  day,  and  I  drifted — 
drifted — drifted — out  of  all  the  ordinary  tracks  and  courses  of 
ships,  and  drifted  yet,  and  yet  drifted.  It  behooves  a  man  who 
takes  charge  of  fellow-critturs'  lives,  never  to  rest  from  making 
himself  master  of  his  calling.  I  never  did  rest,  and  conse- 
quently I  knew  pretty  well  ('specially  looking  over  the  side  in 
the  dead  calm  of  that  strong  current)  what  dangers  to  expect, 
and  what  precautions  to  take  against  'em.  In  short,  we  were 
driving  head  on  to  an  island.  There  was  no  island  in  the  chart, 
and,  therefore,  you  may  say  it  was  ill  manners  in  the  island  to 
be  there  ;  I  don't  dispute  its  bad  breeding,  but  there  it  was. 
Thanks  be  to  Heaven,  I  was  as  ready  for  the  island  as  the 


THE  MONEY. 


273 


island  was  ready  for  me.  I  made  it  out  myself  from  the 
masthead,  and  I  got  enough  way  upon  her  in  good  time  to 
keep  her  off.  I  ordered  a  boat  to  be  lowered  and  manned,  and 
went  in  that  boat  myself  to  explore  the  island.  There  was  a 
reef  outside  it,  and  floating  in  a  coiner  of  the  smooth  water 
within  the  reef,  was  a  heap  of  sea- weed,  and  entangled  in  that 
sea-weed  was  this  bottle." 

Here  the  captain  took  his  hand  from  the  bottle  for  a  mo- 
ment, that  the  young  fisherman  might  direct  a  wondering  glance 
at  it  ;  and  then  replaced  his  hand  and  went  on  : 

"If  ever  you  come — or  even  if  ever  you  don't  come — to  a 
desert  place,  use  you  your  eyes  and  your  spy-glass  well  ;  for 
the  smallest  thing  you  see  may  prove  of  use  to  you,  and  may 
have  some  information  or  some  warning  in  it.  That's  the 
principle  on  which  I  came  to  see  this  bottle.  I  picked  up  the 
bottle  and  ran  the  boat  alongside  the  island,  and  made  fast  and 
went  ashore  armed,  with  a  part  of  my  boat's  crew.  We  found 
that  every  scrap  of  vegetation  on  the  island  (1  give  it  you  as 
my  opinion,  but  scant  and  scrubby  at  the  best  of  times)  had 
been  consumed  by  fire.  As  we  were  making  our  way,  cau- 
tiously and  toilsomely,  over  the  pulverized  embers,  one  of  my 
people  sank  into  the  earth  breast-high.  He  turned  pale,  and 
'Haul  me  out  smart,  shipmates,'  says  he,  'for  my  feet  are 
among  bones.'  We  soon  got  him  on  his  legs  again,  and  then 
we  dug  up  the  spot,  and  we  found  that  the  man  was  right,  and 
that  his  feet  had  been  among  bones.  More  than  that,  they 
were  human  bones ;  though  whether  the  remains  of  one  man, 
or  of  two  or  three  men,  what  with  calcination  and  ashes,  and 
what  with  a  poor  practical  knowledge  of  anatomy,  I  can't  un- 
dertake to  say.  We  examined  the  whole  island  and  made  out 
nothing  else,  save  and  except  that,  from  its  opposite  side,  I 
sighted  a  considerable  tract  of  land,  which  land  I  was  able  to 
identify,  and  according  to  the  bearings  of  which  (not  to  trouble 
you  with  my  log)  I  took  a  fresh  departure.  When  I  got  aboard 
again  I  opened  the  bottle,  which  was  oilskin-covered  as  you 
see,  and  glass-stoppered  as  you  see.  Inside  of  it,"  pursued  the 
captain,  suiting  his  action  to  his  words,  "  I  found  this  little 
crumpled,  folded  paper,  just  as  you  see.  Outside  of  it  was 
written,  as  you  see,  these  words  :  '  Whoever  finds  this,  is  sol- 
emnly entreated  by  the  dead  to  convey  it  unread  to  Alfred  Ray- 
brock,  Steepways,  North  Devon,  England!  A  sacred  charge," 
said  the  captain,  concluding  his  narrative,  "  and,  Alfred  Ray- 
brock,  there  it  is  !  " 

"This  is  my  poor  brother's  writing  !  " 
12* 


274  ' A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Captain  Jorgan.  "  I'll  take  a  look  out 
of  this  Utile  window  while  you  read  it." 

"Pray  no,  sir!  1  should  be  hurt.  My  brother  couldn't  know 
it  would  fall  into  such  hands  as  yours." 

The  captain  sat  down  again  on  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  the 
young  man  opened  the  folded  paper  with  a  trembling  hand,  and 
spread  it  on  the  table.  The  ragged  paper,  evidently  creased 
and  torn  both  before  and  after  being  written  on,  was  much  blot- 
ted and  stained,  and  the  ink  had  faded  and  run,  and  many 
words  were  wanting.  What  the  captain  and  the  young  fisher- 
man made  out  together,  after  much  re-reading  and  much  hu- 
mouring of  the  folds  of  the  paper,  was,  that  J/C500  had  been 
Stolen  ! 

The  young  fisherman  had  become  more  and  more  agitated, 
as  the  writing  had  become  clearer  to  him.  He  now  left  it  lying 
before  the  captain,  over  whose  shoulder  he  had  been  reading 
it,  and  dropping  into  his  former  seat,  leaned  forward  on  the 
table  and  laid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"What,  man,"  urged  the  captain,  "don't  give  in!  Be  up 
and  doing  like  a  man  !  " 

"  It  is  selfish,  I  know, — but  doing  what,  doing  what  ?  "  cried 
the  young  fisherman,  in  complete  despair,  and  stamping  his 
sea-boot  on  the  ground. 

"  Doing  what  ?  "  returned  the  captain.  "  Something  !  I'd  go 
down  to  the  little  breakwater  below  yonder,  and  take  a  wrench 
at  one  of  the  salt-rusted  iron-rings  there,  and  either  wrench  it 
up  by  the  roots  or  wrench  my  teeth  out  of  my  head,  sooner 
than  I'd  do  nothing.  Nothing !  "  ejaculated  the  captain. 
"Any  fool  or  faint-heart  can  do  that,  and  nothing  can  come  of 
nothing — which  was  pretended  to  be  found  out,  I  believe,  by 
one  of  them  Latin  critters,"  said  the  captain  with  the  deepest 
disdain;  "as  if  Adam  hadn't  found  it  out,  afore  ever  he  so 
much  as  named  the  beasts  ! " 

Yet  the  captain  saw,  in  spite  of  his  bold  words,  that  there 
was  some  greater  reason  than  he  yet  understood  for  the  young 
man's  distress.  And  he  eyed  him  with  a  sympathizing  curi- 
osity. 

"  Come,  come  ! "  continued  the  captain.  "  Speak  out. 
What  is  it,  boj  !  " 

"  You  have  seen  how  beautiful  she  is,  sir,"  said  the  young 
nfan,  looking  up  for  the  moment,  with  a  flushed  face  and  rum- 
pled hair. 

"  Did  any  man  ever  say  she  warn't  beautiful?"  retorted  the 
captain.     "  If  so,  go  and  lick  him." 


THE   MONEY. 


27s 


The  young  man  laughed  fretfully  in  spite  of  himself,  and  said, 
"It's  not  that,  it's  not  that." 

"  VVa'al,  then,  what  is  it  ? "  said  the  captain,  in  a  more 
soothing  tone. 

The  young  fisherman  mournfully  composed  himself  to  tell 
the  captain  what  it  was,  and  began  :  "  We  were  to  have  been 
married  next  Monday  week — ■" 

'■Were  to  have  been  J "  interrupted  Captain  Jorgan.  "And 
are  to  be  ?     Key  ?  " 

Young  Raybrock  shook  his  head,  and  traced  out  with  his 
forefinger  the  words  "  poor  father' 's  five  hundred  pounds"  in  the 
written  paper. 

"Go  along,"  said  the  captain.  "Five  hundred  pounds? 
Yes?" 

"  That  sum  of  money,"  pursued  the  young  fisherman,  enter- 
ing with  the  greatest  earnestness  on  his  demonstration,  while 
the  captain  eyed  him  with  equal  earnestness,  "  was  all  my  late 
father  possessed.  When  he  died,  he  owed  no  man  more  than 
he  left  means  to  pay,  but  he  had  been  able  to  lay  by  only  five 
hundred  pounds." 

"Five  hundred   pounds,"  repeated  the  captain.     "Yes?" 

"  In  his  lifetime,  years  before,  he  had  expressly  laid  the 
money  aside  to  leave  to  my  mother, — like  to  settle  upon  her, 
if  I  make  myself  understood." 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  He  had  risked  it  once — my  father  put  down  in  writing  at 
that  time,  respecting  the  money — and  was  resolved  never  to 
risk  it  again." 

"  Not  a  spee'lator,"  said  the  captain.  "  My  country 
wouldn't  have  suited  him.     Yes?" 

"  My  mother  has  never  touched  the  money  till  now.  And 
now  it  was  to  have  been  laid  out,  this  very  next  week,  in  buy- 
ing me  a  handsome  share  in  our  neighbouring  fishery  here,  to 
settle  me  in  life  with  Kitty." 

The  captain's  face  fell,  and  he  passed  and  repassed  his  sun- 
browned  right  hand  over  his  thin  hair,  in  a  discomfited  manner. 

"  Kitty's  father  has  no  more  than  enough  to  live  on,  even  in 
the  sparing  way  in  which  we  live  about  here.  He  is  a  kind  of 
bailiff  or  steward  of  manor  rights  here,  and  they  are  not  much, 
and  it  is  but  a  poor  little  office.  He  was  better  off  once,  and 
Kitty  must  never  marry  to  mere  drudgery  and  hard  living." 

The  captain  still  sat  stroking  his  thin  hair,  and  looking  at  the 
young  fisherman. 

"  I  am  as  certain  that  my  father  had  no  knowledge  that  any 


276  A   MESSAGE  FROM    THE  SEA 

one  was  wronged  as  to  this  money,  or  that  any  restitution 
ought  to  be  made,  as  I  am  certain  that  the  sun  now  shines. 
But,  after  this  solemn  warning  from  my  brother's  grave  in  the 
sea,  that  the  money  is  Stolen  Money,"  said  Young  Raybrock, 
forcing  himself  to  the  utterance  of  the  words,  "  can  I  doubt  it  ? 
Can  I  touch  it  ?  " 

"About  not  doubting,  I  ain't  so  sure,"  observed  the  captain  ; 
"  but  about  not  touching — no — I  don't  think  you  can." 

"  See  then,"  said  Young  Raybrock,  "  why  I  am  so  grieved. 
Think  of  Kitty.     Think  what  I  have  got  to  tell  her  ! " 

His  heart  quite  failed  him  again  when  he  had  come  round  to 
that,  and  he  once  more  beat  his  sea-boot  softly  on  the  floor. 
But  not  for  long;  he  soon  began  again,  in  a  quietly  resolute 
tone  : 

"  However  !  Enough  of  that !  You  spoke  some  brave 
words  to  me  just  now,  Captain  Jorgan,  and  they  shall  not  be 
spoken  in  vain.  I  have  got  to  do  something.  What  I  have 
got  to  do,  before  all  other  things,  is  to  trace  out  the  meaning 
of  this  paper,  for  the  sake  of  the  Good  Name  that  has  no  one 
else  to  put  it  right.  And  still  for  the  sake  of  the  Good  Name, 
and  my  father's  memory,  not  a  word  of  this  writing  must  be 
breathed  to  my  mother,  or  to  Kitty,  or  to  any  human  creature. 
You  agree  in  this  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  they'll  think  of  us  below,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, "but  for  certain  I  can't  oppose  it.  Now,  as  to  tracing. 
How  will  you  do  ?  " 

They  both,  as  by  consent,  bent  over  the  paper  again,  and 
again  carefully  puzzled  out  the  whole  of  the  writing. 

"I  make  out  that  this  would  stand,  if  all  the  writing  was 
here,  'Inquire  among  the  old  men  living  there,  for' — some 
one.  Most  like,  you'll  go  to  this  village  named  here?"  said 
the  captain,  musing,  with  his  finger  on  the  name. 

"  Yes  !  And  Mr.  Tregarthen  is  a  Cornishman,  and — to  be 
sure  ! — comes  from  Lanrean." 

"Does  he?"  said  the  captain  quietly.  "As  I  ain't  ac- 
quainted with  him,  who  may  he  be  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Tregarthen  is  Kitty's  father." 

"  Ay,  ay  !  "  cried  the  captain.  "  Now  you  speak  !  Tregar- 
then knows  this  village  of  Lanrean,  then?" 

"  Beyond  all  doubt  he  does.  I  have  often  heard  him  men- 
tion it,  as  being  his  native  place.     He  knows  it  well." 

"Stop  half  a  moment,"  said  the  captain.  "You  could  ask 
Tregarthen  (or  if  you  couldn't  I  could)  what  names  of  old  men 
he  remembers  in  his  time  in  those  diggings  ?     Hey  ?  " 


THE   .MONEY. 


277 


"  I  can  go  straight  to  his  cottage,  and  ask  him  now." 

"  Take  me  with  you,"  said  the  captain,  rising  in  a  solid  way 
that  had  a  most  comfortable  reliability  in  it,  "and  just  a  word 
more  first.  I  have  knocked  about  harder  than  you,  and  have 
got  along  further  than  you.  I  have  had,  all  my  sea-going  life 
long,  to  keep  my  wits  polished  bright  with  acid  and  friction, 
like  the  brass  cases  of  the  ship's  instruments.  I'll  keep  you 
company  on  this  expedition.  Now  you  don't  live  by  talking 
any  more  than  I  do.  Clench  that  hand  of  yours  in  this  hand 
of  mine,  and  that's  a  speech  on  both  sides." 

Captain  Jorgan  took  command  of  the  expedition  with  that 
hearty  shake.  He  at  once  refolded  the  paper  exactly  as  be- 
fore, replaced  it  in  the  bottle,  put  the  stopper  in,  put  the  oil- 
skin over  the  stopper,  confided  the  whole  to  Young  Raybrock's 
keeping,  and  led  the  way  down-stairs. 

But  it  was  harder  navigation  below  stairs  than  above.  The 
instant  they  set  foot  in  the  parlour  the  quick,  womanly  eye  de- 
tected that  there  was  something  wrong.  Kitty  exclaimed, 
frightened,  as  she  ran  to  her  lover's  side,  "Alfred!  What's 
the  matter?"  Mrs.  Raybrock  cried  out  to  the  captain, 
"  Gracious  !  what  have  you  done  to  my  son  to  change  him 
like  this  all  in  a  minute  ?  "  And  the  young  widow — who  was 
there  with  her  work  upon  her  arm — was  at  first  so  agitated  that 
she  frightened  the  little  girl  she  held  in  her  hand,  who  hid  her 
face  in  her  mother's  skirts  and  screamed.  The  captain,  con- 
scious of  being  held  responsible  for  this  domestic  change,  con- 
templated it  with  quite  a  guilty  expression  of  countenance,  and 
looked  to  the  young  fisherman  to  come  to  his  rescue. 

"  Kitty,  darling,"  said  Young  Raybrock,  "  Kitty,  dearest 
love,  I  must  go  away  to  Lanrean,  and  I  don't  know  where  else 
or  how  much  further,  this  very  day.  Worse  than  that— out- 
marriage, Kitty,  must  be  put  off,  and  I  don't  know  for  how 
long." 

Kitty  stared  at  him,  in  doubt  and  wonder  and  in  anger,  and 
pushed  him  from  her  with  her  hand. 

"Put  off?"  cried  Mrs.  Raybrock.  "The  marriage  put  off? 
And  you  going  to  Lanrean  !  Why,  in  the  name  of  the  dear 
Lord  ?  " 

"  Mother  dear,  I  can't  say  why  ;  I  must  not  say  why.  It 
would  be  dishonourable  and  undutiful  to  say  why." 

"  Dishonourable  and  undutiful  ?  "  returned  the  dame.  "  And 
is  there  nothing  dishonourable  or  undutiful  in  the  boy's  break- 
ing the  heart  of  his  own  plighted  love,  and  his  mother's  heart 
too,  for  the  sake  of  the  dark  secrets  and  counsels  of  a  wicked 


278  A  MESS  a  \;e  from  the  sea. 

stranger  ?  Why  did  you  ever  come  here  ?  "  she  apostrophized 
the  innocent  captain.  "  Who  wanted  you  ?  Where  did  you 
come  from  ?  Why  couldn't  you  rest  in  your  own  bad  place, 
wherever  it  is,  instead  of  disturbing  the  peace  of  quiet  unoffend- 
ing folk  like  us  ?" 

'•And  what,"  sobbed  the  poor  little  Kitty,  "have  I  ever 
done  to  you,  you  hard  and  cruel  captain,  that  you  should  come 
and  serve  me  so  ?  " 

And  then  they  both  began  to  weep  most  pitifully,  while  the 
captain  could  only  look  from  the  one  to  the  other,  and  lay  hold 
of  himself  by  the  coat  collar. 

"  Margaret,"  said  the  poor  young  fisherman,  on  his  knees  at 
Kitty's  feet,  while  Kitty  kept  both  her  hands  before  her  tearful 
face,  to  shut  out  the  traitor  from  her  view, — but  kept  her 
fingers  wide  asunder  and  looked  at  him  all  the  time, — "  Mar- 
garet, you  have  suffered  so  much,  so  uncomplainingly,  and  are 
always  so  careful  and  considerate  !  Do  take  my  part  for  poor 
Hugh's  sake  ! " 

The  quiet  Margaret  was  not  appealed  to  in  vain.  "  I  will, 
Alfred,"  she  returned,  "  and  I  do.  I  wish  this  gentleman  had 
never  come  near  us  ; "  whereupon  the  captain  laid  hold  of  him- 
self the  tighter;  "but  I  take  your  part  for  all  that.  I  am  sure 
yon  have  some  strong  reason  and  some  sufficient  reason  for 
what  you  do,  strange  as  it  is,  and  even  for  not  saying  why  you 
do  it,  strange  as  that  is.  And,  Kitty  darling,  you  are  bound 
to  think  so  more  than  any  one,  for  true  love  believes  every- 
thing, and  bears  everything,  and  trusts  everything.  And, 
mother  dear,  you  are  bound  to  think  so  too,  for  you  know  you 
have  been  blest  with  good  sons,  whose  word  was  always  as 
good  as  their  oath,  and  who  were  brought  up  in  as  true  a  sense 
of  honour  as  any  gentleman  in  this  land.  And  I  am  sure  you 
have  no  more  call,  mother,  to  doubt  your  living  son  than  to 
doubt  your  dead  son  ;  and  for  the  sake  of  the  dear  dead,  I 
stand  up  for  the  dear  living." 

"  Wa'al  now,"  the  captain  struck  in,  with  enthusiasm,  "  this 
I  say,  That  whether  your  opinions  flatter  me  or  not,  you  are  a 
young  woman  of  sense,  and  spirit,  and  feeling;  and  I'd  sooner 
have  you  by  my  side,  in  the  hour  of  danger,  than  a  good  half  of 
the  men  I've  ever  fallen  in  with — or  fallen  out  with,  ayther." 

Margaret  did  not  return  the  captain's  compliment,  or  appear 
fully  to  reciprocate  his  good  opinion,  but  she  applied  herself  to 
the  consolation  of  Kitty,  and  of  Kitty's  mother-in-law  that  was 
to  have  been  next  Monday  week,  and  soon  restored  the  parlour 
to  a  quiet  condition. 


THE  MONEY.  2jg 

"  Kitty,  my  darling,"  said  the  young  fisherman,  "  I  must  go 
to  your  father  to  entreat  him  still  to  trust  me  in  spite  of  this 
wretched  change  and  mystery,  and  to  ask  him  for  some  direc- 
tions concerning  Lanrean.  Will  you  come  home  ?  Will  you 
come  with  me,  Kitty  ?  " 

Kitty  answered  not  a  word,  but  rose  sobbing,  with  the  end 
of  her  simple  head-dress  at  her  eyes.  Captain  Jorgan  followed 
the  lovers  out,  quite  sheepishly,  pausing  in  the  shop  to  give  an 
instruction  to  Mr.  Pettifer. 

"  Here,  Tom  !  "  said  the  captain,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Here's 
something  in  your  line.  Here's  an  old  lady  poorly  and  low  in 
her  spirits.     Cheer  her  up  a  bit,  Tom.     Cheer  'em  all  up." 

Mr.  Pettifer,  with  a  brisk  nod  of  intelligence,  immediately 
assumed  his  steward  face,  and  went  with  his  quiet,  helpful, 
steward  step  into  the  parlour,  where  the  captain  had  the  great 
satisfaction  of  seeing  him,  through  the  glass  door,  take  the 
child  in  his  arms  (who  offered  no  objection),  and  bend  over 
Mrs.  Raybrock,  administering  soft  words  of  consolation. 

"  Though  what  he  finds  to  say,  unless  he's  telling  her  that 
it'll  soon  be  over,  or  that  most  people  is  so  at  first,  or  that  it'll 
do  her  good  afterwards,  I  cannot  imaginate  ! "  was  the  cap- 
tain's reflection  as  he  followed  the  lovers. 

He  had  not  far  to  follow  them,  since  it  was  but  a  short  de- 
scent down  the  stony  ways  to  the  cottage  of  Kitty's  father. 
But  short  as  the  distance  was,  it  was  long  enough  to  enable 
the  captain  to  observe  that  he  was  fast  becoming  the  village 
Ogre  ;  for  there  was  not  a  woman  standing  working  at  her 
door,  or  a  fisherman  coming  up  or  going  down,  who  saw  Young 
Raybrock  unhappy  and  little  Kitty  in  tears,  but  he  or  she  in- 
stantly darted  a  suspicious  and  indignant  glance  at  the  cap- 
tain, as  the  foreigner  who  must  somehow  be  responsible  for 
this  unusual  spectacle.  Consequently,  when  they  came  into 
Tregarthen's  little  garden, — which  formed  the  platform  from 
which  the  captain  had  seen  Kitty  peeping  over  the  wall, — the 
captain  bt  ought  to,  and  stood  off  and  on  at  the  gate,  while 
Kitty  hurried  to  hide  her  tears  in  her  own  room,  and  Alfred 
spoke  with  her  father,  who  was  working  in  the  garden.  He 
ivas  a  rather  infirm  man,  but  could  scarcely  be  cabled  old  yet, 
with  an  agreeable  face  and  a  promising  air  of  making  the  best 
of  things.  The  conversation  began  on  his  side  with  great 
cheerfulness  and  good  humour,  but  soon  became  distrustful, 
and  soon  angry.  That  was  the  captain's  cue  for  striking  both 
into  the  conversation  and  the  garden. 


28o  A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

"  Morning,  sir  !  "  said  Captain  Jorgan.  "  How  do  you 
do?" 

"The  gentleman  I  am  going  away  with,"  said  the  young 
fisherman  to  Tregartben. 

"  Oh  !  "  returned  Kitty's  father,  surveying  the  unfortunate 
captain  with  a  look  of  extreme  disfavour.  "  I  confess  that  I 
can't  say  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"  No,"  said  the  captain,  "  and,  to  admit  the  truth,  that 
seems  to  be  the  general  opinion  in  these  parts.  But  don't  be 
hasty  ;  you  may  think  better  of  me  by  and  by." 

"  I  hope  so,"  observed  Tregartben. 

"Wa'al,  /hope  so,"  observed  the  captain,  quite  at  his  ease  ; 
"more  than  that,  I  believe  so — though  you  don't.  Now,  Mr. 
Tregarthen,  you  don't  want  to  exchange  words  of  mistrust  with 
me  ;  and  if  you  did,  you  couldn't,  because  I  wouldn't.  You 
and  I  are  old  enough  to  know  better  than  to  judge  against  ex- 
perience from  surfaces  and  appearances;  and  if  you  haven't 
lived  to  find  out  the  evil  and  injustice  of  such  judgments,  you 
are  a  lucky  man." 

The  other  seemed  to  shrink  under  this  remark,  and  replied, 
"Sir,  I  have  lived  to  feel  it  deeply." 

"  Wa'al,"  said  the  captain,  mollified,  "  then  I've  made  a 
good  cast  without  knowing  it.  Now,  Tregarthen,  there  stands 
the  lover  of  your  only  child,  and  here  stand  I  who  know  his 
secret.  I  warrant  it  a  righteous  secret,  and  none  of  his  mak- 
ing, though  bound  to  be  of  his  keeping.  I  want  to  help  him 
out  with  it,  and  tewwards  that  end  we  ask  you  to  favour  us  with 
the  names  of  two  or  three  old  residents  in  the  village  of  Lan- 
rean.  As  I  am  taking  out  my  pocket-book  and  pencil  to  put 
the  names  down,  I  may  as  well  observe  to  you  that  this,  wrote 
atop  of  the  first  page  here,  is  my  name  and  address  :  '  Silas 
Jonas  Jorgan,  Salem,  Massachusetts,  United  States.'  If  ever 
you  take  it  in  your  head  to  run  over  any  morning,  I  shall  be 
glad  to  welcome  you.  Now,  what  may  be  the  spelling  of  these 
said  names  ?  " 

"  There  was  an  elderly  man,"  said  Tregarthen,  "  named 
David  Polreath.     He  may  be  dead." 

"  Wa'al,"  said  the  captain,  cheerfully,  "  if  Polreath' s  dead  and 
buried,  and  can  be  made  of  any  service  to  us,  Polreath  won't 
object  to  our  digging  of  him  up.     Polreath's  down,  anyhow." 

"  There  was  another  named  Penrewen.  I  don't  know  his 
Christian  name." 

"  Never  mind  his  Christ'en  name,"  said  the  captain.  "  Pen- 
rewen, for  short." 


THE  MONEY.  28l 

"There  was  another  named  John  Tredgear.' 

"And  a  pleasant-sounding  name,  too,"  said  the  captain; 
"John  Tredgear's  booked." 

"  I  can  recall  no  other  except  old  Parvis." 

"One  of  old  Parvis's  fam'ly  I  reckon,"  said  the  captain, 
"kept  a  dry-goods  store  in  New  York  city,  and  realized  a 
handsome  competency  by  burning  his  house  to  ashes.  Same 
name  anyhow.  David  Polreath,  Unchris'en  Penrewen,  John 
Tredgear,  and  old  Arson  Parvis." 

"  I  cannot  recall  any  others  at  the  moment." 

"Thank'ee,"  said  the  captain.  "And  so,  Tregarthen,  hop- 
ing for  your  good  opinion  yet,  and  likewise  for  the  fair  Devon- 
shire flower's,  your  daughter's,  I  give  you  my  hand,  sir,  and 
wish  you  good  day." 

Young  Raybrock  accompanied  him  disconsolately  ;  for  there 
was  no  Kitty  at  the  window  when  he  looked  up,  no  Kitty  in 
the  garden  when  he  shut  the  gate,  no  Kitty  gazing  after  them 
along  the  stony  ways  when  they  began  to  climb  back. 

"  Now  I  tell  you  what,"  said  the  captain.  "  Not  being  at 
present  calc'lated  to  promote  harmony  in  your  family,  I  won't 
come  in.  You  go  and  get  your  dinner  at  home,  and  I'll  get 
mine  at  the  little  hotel.  Let  our  hour  of  meeting  be  two 
o'clock,  and  you'll  find  me  smoking  a  cigar  in  the  sun  afore  the 
hotel  door.  Tell  Tom  Pettifer,  my  steward,  to  consider  him- 
self on  duty,  and  to  look  after  your  people  till  we  come  back ; 
you'll  find  he'll  have  made  himself  useful  to  'em  already,  and 
will  be  quite  acceptable." 

All  was  done  as  Captain  Jordan  directed.  Punctually  at 
two  o'clock  the  young  fisherman  appeared  with  his  knapsack 
at  his  back  ;  and  punctually  at  two  o'clock  the  captain  jerked 
away  the  last  feather-end  of  his  cigar. 

"  Let  me  carry  your  baggage,  Captain  Jorgan  ;  I  can  easily 
take  it  with  mine." 

"Thank'ee,"  said  the  captain.  "I'll  carry  it  myself.  It's 
only  a  comb." 

They  climbed  out  of  the  village,  and  paused  among  the  trees 
and  fern  on  the  summit  of  the  hill  above,  to  take  breath,  and 
to  look  down  at  the  beautiful  sea.  Suddenly  the  captain  gave 
his  leg  a  resounding  slap,  and  cried,  "  Never  knew  such  a  right 
thing  in  all  my  life  ! " — and  ran  away. 

The  cause  of  this  abrupt  retirement  on  the  part  of  the  cap- 
tain was  little  Kitty  among  the  trees.  The  captain  went  out 
of  sight  and  waited,  and  kept  out  of  sight  and  waited,  until  it 
occurred  to  him  to  beguile  the  time  with  another  cigar.     He 


282  A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA.. 

lighted  it,  and  smoked  it  out,  and  still  he  was  out  of  sight  and 
waiting.  He  stole  within  sight  at  last,  and  saw  the  lovers,  with 
their  arms  entwined  and  their  bent  heads  touching,  moving 
slowly  among  the  trees.  It  was  the  golden  time  of  the  after- 
noon then,  and  the  captain  said  to  him,  "  Golden  sun,  golden 
sea,  golden  sails,  golden  leaves,  golden  love,  golden  youth, — a 
golden  state  of  things  altogether  !" 

Nevertheless  the  captain  found  it  necessary  to  hail  his  young 
companion  before  going  out  of  sight  again.  In  a  few  moments 
more  he  came  up  and  they  began  their  journey. 

"  That  still  young  woman  with  the  fatherless  child,"  said 
Captain  Jorgan,  as  they  fell  into  step,  "didn't  throw  her  words 
away  ;  but  good  honest  words  are  never  thrown  away.  And 
now  that  I  am  conveying  you  off  from  that  tender  little  thing 
that  loves,  and  relies,  and  hopes,  I  feel  just  as  if  I  was  the 
snarling  crittur  in  the  picters,  with  the  tight  legs,  the  long  nose, 
and  the  feather  in  his  cap,  the  tips  of  whose  mustaches  get  up 
nearer  to  his  eyes  the  wickeder  he  gets." 

The  young  fisherman  knew  nothing  of  Mephistopheles  ;  but 
he  smiled  when  the  captain  stopped  to  double  himself  up  and 
slap  his  leg,  and  they  went  along  in  right  good-fellowship. 


CHAPTER    III. 

The  Club-night. 


CORNISH  moor,  when  the  east-wind  drives  over  it, 
is  as  cold  and  rugged  a  scene  as  a  traveller  is  likely 
to  find  in  a  year's  travel.  A  Cornish  moor,  in  the 
dark,  is  as  blank  a  solitude  as  the  traveller  is  likely  to 
wish  himself  well  out  of  in  the  course  of  a  life's  wanderings.  A 
Cornish  moor,  in  a  night  fog,  is  a  wilderness  where  the  traveller 
needs  to  know  his  way  well,  or  the  chances  are  very  strong  that 
his  life  and  his  wanderings  will  soon  perplex  him  no  more. 

Captain  Jorgan  and  the  young  fisherman  had  faced  the  east 
and  the  southeast  winds  from  the  first  rising  of  the  sun  after 
their  departure  from  the  village  of  Steepways.  Thrice  had  the 
sun  risen,  and  still  all  day  long  had  the  sharp  wind  blown  at 
them  like  some  malevolent  spirits  bent  on  forcing  them  back. 
But  Captain  Jorgan  was  too  familiar  with  all  the  winds  that 
blow,  and  too  much  accustomed  to  circumvent  their  slightest 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT. 


283 


weaknesses,  and  get  the  better  of  them  in  the  long  run,  to  be 
beaten  by  any  member  of  the  airy  family.  Taking  the  year 
round,  it  was  his  opinion  that  it  mattered  little  what  wind  blew, 
or  how  hard  it  blew  :  so  he  was  as  indifferent  to  the  wind  on 
this  occasion  as  a  man  could  be  who  frequently  observed  "  that 
it  freshened  him  up,"  and  who  regarded  it  in  the  light  of  an  old 
acquaintance.  One  might  have  supposed,  from  his  way,  that 
there  was  even  a  kind  of  fraternal  understanding  between  Cap- 
tain Jorgan  and  the  wind,  as  between  two  professed  fighters 
often  opposed  to  one  another.  The  young  fisherman,  for  his 
part,  was  accustomed  within  his  narrower  limits  to  hold  hard 
weather  cheap,  and  had  his  anxious  object  before  him  ;  so  the 
wind  went  by  him,  too,  little  heeded,  and  went  upon  its  way  to 
kiss  Kitty. 

Their  varied  course  had  lain  by  the  side  of  the  sea,  where 
the  brown  rocks  cleft  it  into  fountains  of  spray,  and  inland 
where  once  barren  moors  were  reclaimed  and  cultivated,  and 
by  lonely  villages  of  poor-enough  cabins  with  mud  walls,  and 
by  a  town  or  two  with  an  old  church  and  a  market-place.  But, 
always  travelling  through  a  sparely  inhabited  country  and  over 
a  broad  expanse,  they  had  come  at  last  upon  the  true  Cornish 
moor  within  reach  of  Lanrean.  None  but  gaunt  spectres  of 
miners  passed  them  here,  with  metallic  masks  effaces,  ghastly 
with  dust  of  copper  and  tin  ;  anon,  solitary  works  on  remote 
hill-tops,  and  bare  machinery  of  torturing  wheels  and  cogs  and 
chains,  writhing  up  hillsides,  were  the  few  scattered  hints  of 
human  presence  in  the  landscape  ;  during  long  intervals,  the 
bitter  wind,  howling  and  tearing  at  them  like  a  fierce  wild  mon- 
ster, had  them  all  to  itself. 

"A  sing'lar  thing  it  is,"  said  the  captain,  looking  round  at 
the  brown  desert  of  rank  grass  and  poor  moss,  "how  like  this 
airth  is  to  the  men  that  live  upon  it  !  Here's  a  spot  of  country 
rich  with  hidden  metals,  and  it  puts  on  the  worst  rags  of  clothes 
possible,  and  crouches  and  shivers  and  makes  believe  to  be  so 
poor  that  it  can't  so  much  as  afford  a  feed  for  a  beast.  Just 
like  a  human  miser,  ain't  it  ?" 

"But  they  find  the  miser  out,"  returned  the  young  fisherman, 
pointing  to  where  the  earth  by  the  water-courses  and  along  the 
valleys  was  turned  up  for  miles,  in  trying  for  metal. 

"  Ay,  they  fkid  him  out,"  said  the  captain  ;  "  but  he  makes 
a  struggle  of  it  even  then,  and  holds  back  all  he  can.  He's 
a  'cute  'un." 

The  gloom  of  evening  was  already  gathering  on  the  dreary 
scene,  and  they  were,  at  the  shortest  and  best,  a  dozen  miles 


284  A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

from  their  destination.  But  the  captain,  in  his  long-skirted 
blue  coat  and  his  boots  and  his  hat  and  his  square  shirt-collar, 
and  without  any  extra  defence  against  the  weather,  walked 
cooly  along  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  as  if  he  lived  under 
ground  somewhere  hard  by,  and  had  just  come  up  to  show  his 
friend  the  road. 

"  I'd  have  liked  to  have  had  a  look  at  this  place,  too,"  said 
the  captain,  "  when  there  was  a  monstrous  sweep  of  water  roll- 
ing over  it,  dragging  the  powerful  great  stones  along  and  piling 
'em  atop  of  one  another,  and  depositing  the  foundations  for  all 
manner  of  susperstitions.  Bless  you  !  the  old  priests,  smart 
mechanical  critturs  as  they  were,  never  piled  up  many  of  these 
stones.  Water's  the  lever  that  moved  'em.  When  you  see  'em 
thick  and  blunt  tewwards  one  point  of  the  compass,  and  fined 
away  thin  tewwards  the  opposite  point,  you  may  be  as  good  as 
moral  sure  that  the  name  of  the  ancient  Druid  that  fixed  'em 
was  Water." 

The  captain  referred  to  some  great  blocks  of  stone  presenting 
this  characteristic,  which  were  wonderfully  balanced  and 
heaped  on  one  another,  on  a  desolate  hill.  Looking  back  at 
these,  as  they  stood  out  against  the  lurid  glare  of  the  west,  just 
then  expiring,  they  were  not  unlike  enormous  antediluvian 
birds,  that  had  perched  there  on  crags  and  peaks,  and  had  been 
petrified  there. 

"But  it's  an  interesting  country,"  said  the  captain,  "fact! 
It's  old  in  the  annals  of  that  said  old  Arch-Druid,  Water,  and 
it's  old  in  the  annals  of  the  said  old  parson-critturs  too.  It's  a 
mighty  interesting  thing  to  set  your  boot  (as  I  did  this  day)  on 
a  rough,  honeycombed  old  stone,  with  just  nothing  you  can 
name  but  weather  visible  upon  it ;  which  the  scholars  that  go 
about  with  hammers,  chipping  pieces  off  the  universal  airth, 
find  to  be  an  inscription  entreating  prayers  for  the  soul  of 
some  for-ages-bust-up  crittur  of  a  governor  that  overtaxed  a 
people  never  heard  of."  Here  the  captain  stopped  to  slap  his 
leg.  It's  a  mighty  interesting  thing  to  come  upon  a  score  or 
two  of  stones  set  up  on  end  in  a  desert, — some  short,  some 
tall,  some  leaning  here,  some  leaning  there,  and  to  know  that 
they  were  pop'larly  supposed — and  may  be  still — to  be  a  group 
of  Cornish  men  that  got  changed  into  that  geological  formation 
for  playing  a  game  upon  a  Sunday.  They  wouldn't  have  it  in 
my  country,  I  reckon,  even  if  they  could  get  it, — but  it's  very 
interesting." 

In  this  the  captain,  though  it  amused  him,  was  quite  sincere. 
Quite  as  sincere  as  when  he  added,  after  looking  well  about 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT. 


285 


him  :  "  That  fog-bank,  coming  up  as  the  sun  goes  down,  will 
spread,  and  we  shall  have  to  feel  our  way  into  Lanrean  full  as 
much  as  see  it." 

All  the  way  along  the  young  fisherman  had  spoken  at  times 
to  the  captain  of  his  interrupted  hopes,  and  of  the  family  good 
name,  and  of  the  restitution  that  must  be  made,  and  of  the 
cherished  plans  of  his  heart,  so  near  attainment,  which  must  be 
set  aside  for  it.  In  his  simple  faith  and  honour,  he  seemed  in- 
capable of  entertaining  the  idea  that  it  was  within  the  bounds 
of  possibility  to  evade  the  doing  of  what  their  inquiries  should 
establish  to  be  right.  This  was  very  agreeable  to  Captain  Jor- 
gan,  and  won  his  genuine  admiration.  Wherefore  he  now 
turned  the  discourse  back  into  that  channel,  and  encouraged 
his  companion  to  talk  of  Kitty,  and  to  calculate  how  many 
years  it  would  take,  without  a  share  in  the  fishery,  to  establish 
a  home  for  her,  and  to  relieve  his  honest  heart  by  dwelling  on 
its  anxieties. 

Meanwhile  it  fell  very  dark,  and  the  fog  became  dense, 
though  the  wind  howled  at  them  and  bit  them  as  savagely  as 
ever.  The  captain  had  carefully  taken  the  bearings  of  Lanrean 
from  the  map,  and  carried  his  pocket-compass  with  him  ;  the 
young  fisherman,  too,  possessed  that  kind  of  cultivated  instinct 
for  shaping  a  course  which  is  often  found  among  men  of  such 
pursuits.  But  although  they  held  a  true  course  in  the  main, 
and  corrected  it  when  they  lost  the  road,  by  aid  of  the  compass 
and  a  light  obtained  with  great  difficulty  in  the  roomy  depths 
of  the  captain's  hat,  they  could  not  help  losing  the  road  often. 
On  such  occasions  they  would  become  involved  in  the  difficult 
ground  of  the  spongy  moor,  and,  after  making  a  labbrious 
loop,  would  emerge  upon  the  road  at  some  point  they  had 
passed  before  they  left  it,  and  thus  would  have  a  good  deal  of 
work  to  do  twice  over.  But  the  young  fisherman  was  not 
easily  lost,  and  the  captain  (and  his  comb)  would  probably  have 
turned  up  with  perfect  coolness  and  self-possession,  at  any  ap- 
pointed spot  on  the  surface  of  this  globe.  Consequently, 
they  were  no  more  than  retarded  in  their  progress  to  Lanrean, 
and  arrived  in  that  small  place  at  nine  o'clock.  By  that  time 
the  captain's  hat  had  fallen  back  over  his  ears,  and  rested  on 
the  nape  of  his  neck  ;  but  he  still  had  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
and  showed  no  other  sign  of  dilapidation. 

They  had  almost  run  against  a  low  stone  house  with  red- 
curtained  windows  before  they  knew  they  had  hit  upon  the  lit- 
tle hotel,  the  King  Arthur's  Arms.  They  could  just  descry 
through  the  mist,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  narrow  road,  other 


286  A   MESSAGE   FROM   THE  SEA. 

low  stone  buildings  which  were  its  outhouses  and  stables ;  and 
somewhere  overhead  its  invisible  sign  was  being  wrathfully 
swung  by  the  wind. 

"Now,  wait  a  bit,"  said  the  captain.  "  They  might  be  full 
here,  or  they  might  offer  us  cold  quarters.  Consequently,  the 
policy  is  to  take  an  observation,  and,  when  we've  found  the 
warmest  room,  walk  right  slap  into  it." 

The  warmest  room  was  evidently  that  from  which  fire  and 
candle  streamed  reddest  and  brightest,  and  from  which  the 
sound  of  voices  engaged  in  some  discussion  came  out  into  the 
night.  Captain  Jorgan,  having  established  the  bearings  of  this 
room,  merely  said  to  his  young  friend,  "  Follow  me  !  "  and 
was  in  it  before  King  Arthur's  Arms  had  any  notion  that  they 
infolded  a  stranger. 

"  Order,  order,  order  !"  cried  several  voices,  as  the  captain, 
with  his  hat  under  his  arm,  stood  within  the  door  he  had 
opened. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  captain,  advancing,  "  I  am  much  be- 
holden to  you  for  the  opportunity  you  give  me  of  addressing 
you  ;  but  will  not  detain  you  with  any  lengthened  observations. 
I  have  the  honour  to  be  a  cousin  of  yours  on  the  Uncle  Sam 
side  ;  this  young  friend  of  mine  is  a  nearer  relation  of  yours 
on  the  Devonshire  side  ;  we  are  both  pretty  nigh  used  up,  and 
much  in  want  of  supper.  I  thank  you  for  your  welcome,  and  I 
am  proud  to  take  you  by  the  hand,  sir,  and  I  hope  I  see  you 
well." 

These  last  words  were  addressed  to  a  jolly-looking  chair- 
man, with  a  wooden  hammer  near  him  ;  which,  but  for  the 
captain's  friendly  grasp,  he  would  have  taken  up  and  ham- 
mered the  table  with. 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir?"  said  the  captain,  shaking  this  chair- 
man's hand  with  the  greatest  heartiness,  while  his  new  friend  in- 
effectually eyed  his  hammer  of  office  ;  "  when  you  come  to  my 
country,  I  shall  be  proud  to  return  your  welcome,  sir,  and  that 
of  this  good  company." 

The  captain  now  took  his  seat  near  the  fire,  and  invited  his 
companion  to  do  the  like, — whom  he  congratulated  aloud,  on 
their  having  "fallen  on  their  feet." 

The  company,  who  might  be  about  a  dozen  in  number,  were 
at  a  loss  what  to  make  of,  or  do  with,  the  captain.  But  one  lit- 
tle old  man  in  long,  flapping  shirt-collars,  who,  with  only  his 
face  and  them  visible  through  a  cloud  of  tobacco-smoke,  looked 
like  a  superannuated  Cherubim,  said  sharply, 

"  This  is  a  Club." 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT 


287 


"This  is  a  Club,"  the  captain  repeated  to  his  young  friend. 
"  Wa'al  now,  that's  curious  !  Didn't  I  say,  coming  along,  if 
we  could  only  light  upon  a  Club  ?  " 

The  captain's  doubling  himself  up  and  slapping  his  leg  fin- 
ished the  chairman.  He  had  been  softening  toward  the  cap- 
tain from  the  first,  and  he  melted.  "  Gentlemen  King  Ar- 
thurs," said  he,  rising,  "though  it  is  not  the  custom  to  admit 
strangers,  still,  as  we  have  broken  the  rule  once  to-night,  *I  will 
exert  my  authority  and  break  it  again.  And  while  the  supper 
of  these  travellers  is  cooking," — here  his  eye  fell  on  the  land- 
lord, who  discreetly  took  the  hint  and  withdrew  to  see  about  it, 
"  I  will  recall  you  to  the  subject  of  the  seafaring  man." 

"  D'ye  hear  !  "  said  the  captain,  aside  to  the  young  fisherman  ; 
"that's  in  our  way.      Who's  the  seafaring  man,  I  wonder?" 

"  I  see  several  young  men  here,"  returned  the  young  fisher- 
man, eagerly,  for  his  thoughts  were  always  on  his  object.  "  Per- 
haps one  or  more  of  the  old  men  whose  names  you  wrote  down 
in  your  book  may  be  here." 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  captain;  "I've  got  my  eye  on  'em. 
But  don't  force  it.     Try  if  it  won't  come  nat'ral." 

Thus  the  two,  behind  their  hands,  while  they  sat  warming  them- 
selves at  the  fire.  Simultaneously,  the  Club  beginning  to  be  at 
ease  again,  and  resuming  the  discussion  of  the  seafaring  man, 
the  captain  winked  to  his  fellow-traveller  to  let  him  attend  to  it. 

As  it  was  a  kind  of  conversation  not  altogether  unprece- 
dented in  such  assemblages,  where  most  of  those  who  spoke  at 
all  spoke  all  at  once,  and  where  half  of  these  could  put  no  be- 
ginning to  what  they  had  to  say,  and  the  other  half  could  put 
no  end,  the  tendency  of  the  debate  was  discursive,  and  not 
very  intelligible.  All  the  captain  had  made  out,  down  to  the 
time  when  the  separate  little  table  laid  for  two  was  covered 
with  a  smoking  broiled  fowl  and  rashers  of  bacon,  reduced 
itself  to  these  heads  :  That  a  seafaring  man  had  arrived  at 
the  King  Arthur's  Arms,  benighted,  an  hour  or  so  earlier  in  the 
evening.  That  the  Gentlemen  King  Arthurs  had  admitted  him, 
though  all  unknown,  into  the  sanctuary  of  their  Club.  That 
they  had  invited  him  to  make  his  footing  good  by  telling  a  story. 
That  he  had,  after  some  pressing,  begun  a  story  of  adventure  and 
shipwreck  ;  at  an  interesting  point  of  which  he  had  suddenly 
broken  off,  and  positively  refused  to  finish.  That  he  had  there- 
upon taken  up  a  candlestick,  and  gone  to  bed,  and  was  now 
the  sole  occupant  of  a  double-bedded  room  up-stairs.  The 
question  raised  on  these  premises  appeared  to  be,  whether  the 
seafaring  man  was  not  in  a  state  of  contumacy  and  contempt, 


288  *   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

and  ought  not  to  be  formally  voted  and  declared  in  that  con- 
dition. This  deliberation  involved  the  difficulty  (suggested  by 
the  more  jocose  and  irreverent  of  the  Gentlemen  King  Ar- 
thurs) that  it  might  make  no  sort  of  difference  to  the  seafaring 
man  whether  he  was  so  voted  and  declared,  or  not. 

Captain  Jorganand  the  young  fisherman  ate  their  supper  and 
drank  their  beer,  and  their  knives  and  forks  had  ceased  to 
Kittle  and  their  glasses  had  ceased  to  clink,  and  still  the  discus- 
sion showed  no  symptoms  of  coming  to  any  conclusion.  But 
when  they  had  left  their  little  supper-table,  and  had  returned  to 
their  seats  by  the  fire,  the  Chairman  hammered  himself  into  at- 
tention, and  thus  outspake  : 

"  Gentlemen  King  Arthurs,  when  the  night  is  so  bad  without, 
harmony  should  prevail  within.  When  the  moor  is  so  windy, 
cold,  and  bleak,  this  room  should  be  cheerful,  convivial,  and 
entertaining.  Gentlemen,  at  present  it  is  neither  the  one  nor 
yet  the  other,  nor  yet  the  other.  Gentlemen  King  Arthurs, 
I  recall  you  to  yourselves.  Gentlemen  King  Arthurs,  what 
are  you?  You  are  inhabitants — old  inhabitants — of  the  noble 
village  of  Lanrean.  You  are  in  council  assembled.  You 
are  a  monthly  Club  through  all  the  winter  months,  and  they 
are  many.  It  is  your  perroud  perrivilege,  on  a  new  member's 
entrance,  or  on  a  member's  birthday,  to  call  upon  that  member 
to  make  good  his  footing  by  relating  to  you  some  transaction 
or  adventure  in  his  life,  or  in  the  life  of  a  relation,  or  in  the 
life  of  a  friend,  and  then  depute  me  as  your  representative 
to  spin  a  teetotum  to  pass  it  round.  Gentlemen  King  Ar- 
thurs, your  perroud  perrivileges  shall  not  suffer  in  my  keeping. 
N — no  !  Therefore,  as  the  member  whose  birthday  the  present 
occasion  has  the  honour  to  be  has  gratified  you,  and  as  the  sea- 
faring man  overhead  has  not  gratified  you,  I  start  you  fresh, 
by  spinning  the.  teetotum  attached  to  my  office,  and  calling  on 
the  gentlemen  it  falls  to  to  speak  up  when  his  name  is  de- 
clared." 

The  captain  and  his  young  friend  looked  hard  at  the  tee- 
totum as  it  whirled  rapidly,  and  harder  still  when  it  gradually 
became  intoxicated  and  began  to  stagger  about  the  table  in  an 
ill-conducted  and  disorderly  manner.  Finally  it  came  into  col- 
lision with  a  candlestick,  and  leaped  against  the  pipe  of  the 
old  gentleman  with  the  flapping  shirt-collars.  Thereupon  the 
chairman  struck  the  table  once  with  his  hammer  and  said, 

"Mr.  Parvis!"  ' 

"  D'ye  hear  that  ?  "  whispered  the  captain,  greatly  excited,  to 
the  young  fisherman.     '"  I'd  have  laid  yow  a  thousand  dollars  a 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT.  289 

good  half-hour  ago,  that  that  old  cherubim  in  the  cloud  was 
Arson  Parvis  !  " 

The  respectable  personage  in  question,  after  turning  up  one 
eye  to  assist  his  memory, — at  which  time  he  bore  a  very  strik- 
ing resemblance  indeed  to  the  conventional  representations  of 
his  race  as  executed  in  oil  by  various  ancient  masters, — com- 
menced a  narrative,  of  which  the  interest  centred  in  a  waist- 
coat. It  appeared  that  the  waistcoat  was  a  yellow  waistcoat 
with  a  green  stripe,  white  sleeves,  and  a  plain  brass  button.  It 
also  appeared  that  the  waistcoat  was  made  to  order,  by  Nich- 
olas Pendold  of  Penzance,  who  was  thrown  off  the  top  of  a 
fjur  horse  coach  coming  down  the  hill  on  the  Plymouth  road, 
and,  pitching  on  his  head  where  he  was  not  sensitive,  lived  two- 
and-thirty  years  afterward,  and  considered  himself  the  better 
for  the  accident, — roused  up,  as  it  might  be.  It  further  ap- 
peared that  the  waistcoat  belonged  to  Mr.  Parvis's  father,  and 
had  once  attended  him,  in  company  with  a  pair  of  gaiters,  to 
the  annual  feast  of  miners  at  St.  Just  ;  where  the  extraordinary 
circumstances  which  ever  afterward  rendered  it  a  waistcoat 
famous  in  story  had  occurred.  But  the  celebrity  of  the  waist- 
coat was  not  thoroughly  accounted  for  by  Mr.  Parvis,  and  had 
to  be  to  some  extent  taken  on  trust  by  the  company,  in  conse- 
quence of  that  gentleman's  entirely  forgetting  all  about  the  ex- 
traordinary circumstance  fchat  had  handed  it  down  to  fame. 
Indeed,  he  was  even  unable,  on  a  gentle  cross-examination  in- 
stituted for  the  assistance  of  his  memory,  to  inform  the  Gen- 
tlemen King  Arthurs  whether  it  was  a  circumstance  of  a  nat- 
ural or  a  supernatural  character.  Having  thus  responded  to 
the  teetotum,  Mr.  Parvis,  after  looking  out  from  his  clouds  as 
if  he  would  like  to  see  the  man  who  would  beat  that,  subsided 
into  himself. 

The  fraternity  were  plunged  into  a  blank  condition  by  Mr. 
Parvis's  success,  and  the  chairman  was  about  to  try  another 
spin,  when  Young  Raybrock — whom  Captain  Jorgan  had  with 
difficulty  restrained — rose,  and  said  might  he  ask  Mr.  Parvis  a 
question. 

The  Gentlemen  King  Arthurs  holding,  with  loud  cries  of 
"  Order  ! "  that  he  might  not,  he  asked  the  question  as  soon  as 
he  could  possibly  make  himself  heard. 

Did  the  forgotten  circumstance  relate  in  any  way  to  money  ? 
To  a  sum  of  money,  such  as  five  hundred  pounds  ?  To  money 
supposed  by  its  possessor  to  be  honestly  come  by,  but  in  real- 
ity ill-gotten  and  stolen  ? 

A  general  surprise  seized  upon  the  club  when  this  remarkable 


2QO 


A    MESSAGE   FROM    THE   SEA. 


inquiry  was  preferred  ;  which  would  have  become  resentment 
but  for  the  captain's  interposition. 

"  Strange  as  it  sounds,"  said  he,  '-'and  suspicious  as  it  sounds, 
I  pledge  myself,  gentlemen,  that  my  young  friend  here  has  a 
manly,  stand-up  Cornish  reason  for  his  words.  Also,  I  pledge 
myself  that  they  are  inoffensive  words.  He  and  I  are  search- 
ing for  information  on  a  subject  which  those  words  generally 
describe.  Such  information  we  may  get  from  the  honestest  and 
best  .of  men, — may  get,  or  not  get,  here  or  anywhere  about  here. 
I  hope  the  Honourable  Mr.  Arson — I  ask  his  pardon — Parvis 
— will  not  object  to  quiet  my  young  friend's  mind  by  saying  Yes 
or  No." 

After  some  time,  the  obtuse  Mr.  Parvis  was  with  great  trouble 
and  difficulty  induced  to  roar  out  "  No  !"  For  which  conces- 
sion the  captain  rose  and  thanked  him. 

"  Now,  listen  to  the  next,"  whispered  the  captain  to  the 
young  fisherman.  "  There  may  be  more  in  him  than  in  the 
other  crittur.     Don't  interrupt  him.     Hear  him  out." 

The  chairman  with  all  due  formality  spun  the  teetotum,  and 
it  reeled  into  the  brandy-and-water  of  a  strong,  brown  man  of 
sixty  or  so,— John  Tredgear,  the  manager  of  a  neighbouring 
mine.  He  immediately  began  as  follows,  with  a  plain,  business- 
like air  that  gradually  wanned  as  he  proceeded  : — 

It  happened  that  at  one  period  of  my  life  the  path  of  my 
destiny  (not  a  tin  path  then)  lay  along  the  high-ways  and  by- 
ways of  France,  and  that  I  had  occasion  to  make  frequent  stop- 
pages at  common  French  roadside  cabarets, — that  kind  of  tav- 
ern which  has  a  very  bad  name  in  French  books  and  French 
plays.  I  had  engaged  myself  in  an  undertaking  whiph  rendered 
such  journeys  necessary.  A  very  old  friend  of  mine  had  re- 
cently established  himself  at  Paris  in  a  wholesale  commercial 
enterprise,  into  the  nature  of  which  it  is  not  necessary  for  our 
present  purpose  to  enter.  He  had  proposed  to  me  a  certain 
share  in  the  undertaking,  and  one  of  the  duties  of  my  post  was 
to  involve  occasional  journeys  among  the  smaller  towns  and 
villages  of  France,  with  the  view  of  establishing  rgencies  and 
opening  connections.  My  friend  had  applied  to  me  to  under- 
take this  function,  rather  than  to  a  native,  feeling  that  he  could 
trust  me  better  than  a  stranger.  He  knew,  also,  that  in  conse- 
quence of  my  having  been  half  of  my  life  at  school  in  France, 
my  knowledge  of  the  language  would  be  sufficient  for  every 
purpose  that  could  be  required. 

I  accepted  my  friend's  proposal,  and  entered  with  such  en- 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT. 


291 


ergy  as  I  could  command  upon  my  new  mode  of  life.  Some- 
times my  journeyings  from  place  to  place  were  accomplished 
by  means  of  the  railroad,  or  other  public  conveyance  ;  but 
there  were  other  occasions,  and  these  last  I  liked  the  best,  when 
it  was  necessary  I  should  go  to  out-of-the-way  places,  and  by 
such  cross-roads  as  rendered  it  more  convenient  for  me  to  travel 
with  a  carriage  and  horse  of  my  own.  My  carriage  was  a  kind 
of  phaeton  without  a  coach-box,  with  a  leather  houd  that  would 
put  up  and  down  ;  and  there  was  plenty  of  room  at  the  back 
for  such  specimens  or  samples  of  goods  as  it  was  necessary  that 
I  should  carry  with  me.  For  my  horse, — it  was  absolutely  in- 
dispensable that  it  should  be  an  animal  of  some  value,  as  no 
horse  but  a  very  good  one  would  be  capable  of  performing  the 
long  courses,  day  after  day,  which  my  mode  of  travelling  ren- 
dered necessary.  She  cost  me  two  thousand  francs,  and  was 
anything  but  dear  at  the  price.     • 

Many  were  the  journeys  we  performed  together  over  the 
broad  acres  of  beautiful  France.  Many  were  the  hotels,  many 
the  auberges,  many  the  bad  dinners,  many  the  damp  beds,  and 
many  the  fleas  which  I  encountered  en  route.  Many  were  the 
dull  old  fortified  towns,  over  whose  drawbridges  I  rolled ;  many 
the  still  more  dull  old  towns  without  fortifications  and  without 
drawbridges,  at  which  my  avocation  made  it  necessary  for  me 
to  halt. 

I  don't  know  how  it  was  that  on  the  morning  when  I  was<  to 
start  from  the  town  of  Doulaise,  with  the  intention  of  sleeping 
at  Francy-le-Grand,  I  was  an  hour  later  in  commencing  my 
journey  than  I  ought  to  have  been.  I  have  said  I  don't  know 
how  it  was,  but  this  is  scarcely  true.  I  do  know  how  it  was. 
It  was  because  on  that  morning,  to  use  a  popular  expression, 
everything  went  wrong.  So  it  was  an  hour  later  than  it  ought 
to  have  been,  gentlemen,  when  I  drew  up  the  sheep-skin  lining 
of  my  carriage-apron  over  my  legs,  and,  establishing  my  little 
dog  comfortably  on  the  seat  beside  me,  set  off  on  my  journey. 
In  all  my  expeditions  I  was  accompanied  by  a  favourite  terrier  of 
mine,  which  I  had  brought  with  me  from  England.  I  never 
travelled  without  her,  and  found  her  a  companion. 

It  was  a  miserable  day  in  the  month  of  October.  A  perfectly 
gray  sky,  with  white  gleams  about  the  horizon,  give  unmistaka- 
ble evidence  that  the  small  drizzle  which  was  falling  would  con- 
tinue for  four-and  twenty  hours  at  least.  It  was  cold  and  cheer- 
less weather,  and  on  the  deserted  road  I  was  pursuing  there 
was  scarcely  a  human  being  (unless  it  was  an  occasional  can- 
tonnier,  or  road-mender)  to  break  the  solitude.     A  deserted 


292 


A    MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 


way  indeed,  with  poplars  on  each  ?:de  of  it,  which  had  turned 
yellow  in  the  autumn,  and  had  she  J  their  leaves  in  abundance 
•ill  across  the  road,  so  that  my  mare's  footsteps  had  quite  a 
muffled  sound  as  she  trampled  them  under  her  hoofs.  Widely 
extended  flats  spread  out  on  either  side  till  the  view  was  lost  in 
an  inconceivably  melancholy  scene,  and  the  road  itself  was  so 
perfectly  straight,  that  you  could  see  something  like  ten  miles 
of  it  diminishing  to  a  point  in  front  of  you,  while  a  similar  view 
was  visible  through  the  little  window  at*  the  back  of  the  car- 
i 

!n  the  hurry  of  the  morning's  departure,  I  had  omitted  to  in- 
quire, as  I  generally  did  in  travelling  an  unknown  road,  at  what 
village  it  would  be  best  for  me  to  stop,  about  noon,  to  bait,  and 
what  was  the  name  of  the  most  respectable  house  of  public  enter- 
tainment in  my  way  ;  so  that  when  I  arrived,  between  twelve  and 
one  o'clock,  at  a  certain  place  where  four  roads  met,  and  when, 
at  one  of  the  corners  formed  by  their  union,  I  saw  a  great  bare- 
looking  inn,  with  the  sign  of  the  T<ke  Noire  swinging  in  front, 
I  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  put  up  there,  without  knowing  any- 
thing of  the  character  of  the  house. 

The  look  of  the  place  did  not  please  me.  It  was  a  great, 
bare,  uninhabited  looking  house,  which  seemed  much  larger  than 
was  necessary,  and  presented  a  black  and  dirty  appearance, 
which,  considering  the  distance  from  any  town,  it  was  difficult 
to  account  for.  All  the  doors  and  all  the  windows  were  shut; 
there  was  no  sign  of  any  living  creature  about  the  place  ;  and 
niched  into  the  wall  above  the  principal  entrance  was  a  grim 
and  ghastly-looking  life-size  figure  of  a  saint.  For  a  moment  I 
hesitated  whether  I  should  turn  into  the  open  gates  of  the 
stable-yard,  or  go  farther  in  search  of  some  more  attractive 
halting-place.  But  my  mare  was  tired,  I  was  more  than  half- 
way on  my  road,  and  this  would  be  the  best  division  of  the 
journey.  Besides,  gentlemen,  why  not  put  up  here?  If  I  was 
only  going  to  stop  at  such  places  of  entertainment  as  com- 
pletely satisfied  me,  externally  as  well  as  internally,  I  had  bet- 
ter give  up  travelling  altogether. 

There  were  no  more  signs  of  life  in  the  interior  of  the  yard 
than  were  presented  by  the  external  aspect  of  house  as  it 
fronted  the  road.  Everything  seemed  shut  up.  All  the  stables 
and  out-houses  were  characterized  by  closed  doors,  without  so 
much  as  a  straw  clinging  to  their  thresholds  to  indicate  that 
these  buildings  were  sometimes  put  to  a  practical  use.  1  saw 
no  manure  strewed  about  the  place,  and  no  living  creature;  no 
pigs,  no  ducks,  no  fowls.     It  was  perfectly  still  and  quiet,  and 


THE  CLUB-NIGHT. 


293 


as  it  was  one  of  those  days  when  a  fine,  small  rain  descends 
quite  straight,  without  a  breath  of  air  to  drive  it  one  way  or  the 
other,  the  silence  was  complete  and  distressing.  I  gave  a  loud 
shout,  and  began  undoing  the  harness  while  my  summons  was 
taking  effect. 

The  first  person  whom  the  sound  of  my  voice  appeared  to 
have  reached  was  a  small  but  precocious  boy,  who  opened  a 
door  in  the  back  of  the  house,  and  descending  the  flight  of 
steps  which  led  to  it,  approached  to  aid  me  in  my  task.  I  was 
just  undoing  the  final  buckle  on  my  side  of  the  harness,  when, 
happening  to  turn  round,  I  discovered,  standing  close  behind 
me,  a  personage  who  had  approached  so  quietly  that  it  would 
have  been  a  confusing  thing  to  find  him  so  near,  even  if  there 
had  been  nothing  in  his  appearance  which  was  calculated  to 
startle  one.  He  was  the  most  ill-looking  man,  gentlemen,  that 
it  was  ever  my  fortune  to  behold.  Nearer  fifty  than  any  other 
age  I  could  give  him,  his  dry,  spare  nature  had  kept  him  as 
light  and  active  as  a  restless  boy.  An  absence  of  flesh,  how- 
ever, was  not  the  only  want  I  felt  to  exist  in  the  personal  ap- 
pearance of  the  landlord  of  the  Tete  Noire.  There  was  a  much 
more  serious  defect  in  him  than  this.  A  want  of  any  hint  of 
mercy,  or  conscience,  or  any  accessible  approach  to  the  better 
side  (if  there  was  a  better  side)  of  the  man's  nature.  When 
first  I  looked  at  his  eyes,  as  he  stood  behind  me  in  the  open 
court,  and  as  they  rapidly  glanced  over  the  comely  points  of 
my  horse,  and  thence  to  the  packages  inside  my  carriage,  and 
the  portmanteau  strapped  on  in  front  of  it, — at  that  time  the 
colour  of  his  eyes  appeared  to  me  to  be  of  an  almost  orange 
tinge  ;  but  when,  a  minute  afterward,  we  stood  together  in  the 
dark  stable,  I  noted  that  a  kind  of  blue  phosphorescence 
gleamed  upon  their  surface,  veiling  their  real  hue,  and  impart- 
ing to  them  a  tigerish  lustre.  The  moment  when  I  remarked 
this,  by  the  by,  was  when  the  organs  I  have  been  describing 
were  fixed  upon  the  very  large  gold  ring  which  I  had  not  ceased 
to  wear  when  I  adopted  my  adventurous  life,  and  which  you 
may  see  upon  my  finger  now.  There  were  two  other  things 
about  this  man  that  struck  me.  These  were  a  bald  red-project- 
ing lump  of  flesh  at  the  back  of  his  head,  and  a  deep  scar, 
which  a  scrap  of  frowzy  whisker  on  his  cheek  wholly  declined 
to  conceal. 

"  A  nasty  day  for  a  journey  of  pleasure,"  said  the  landlord, 
looking  at  me  with  a  satirical  smile. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  not  a  journey  of  pleasure,"  I  answered, 
dryly. 


294  A  MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

"  We  have  few  such  travellers  on  the  road  now,"  said  the 
evil-faced  man.  "  The  railroads  make  the  country  a  desert, 
and  the  roads  are  as  wild  as  they  were  three  hundred  years 
ago." 

"They  are  well  enough,"  I  answered  carelessly,  "for  those 
who  are  obliged  to  travel  by  them.  Nobody  else,  I  should 
think,  would  be  likely  to  make  use  of  them." 

"  Will  you  come  into  the  house  ?  "  said  the  landlord,  abruptly, 
looking  me  full  in  the  face. 

I  never  felt  a  stronger  repugnance  than  I  entertained  toward 
the  idea  of  entering  this  man's  doors.  Yet  what  other  course 
was  open  to  me  ?  My  mare  was  already  half  through  the  first 
instalment  of  her  oats,  so  there  was  no  more  excuse  for  remain- 
ing in  the  stable.  To  take  a  walk  in  the  drenching  rain  was  out 
of  the  question,  and  to  remain  sitting  in  my  caleche  would  have 
been  a  worse  indication  of  suspicion  and  mistrust.  Besides, 
I  had  had  nothing  since  the  morning's  coffee,  and  I  wanted 
something  to  eat  and  drink.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done, 
then,  but  to  accept  my  ill-looking  friend's  offer.  He  led  the 
way  up  the  flight  of  steps  which  gave  access  to  the  interior  ol 
the  building. 

The  room  in  which  I  found  myself  on  passing  through  the 
door  at  the  top  of  these  steps  was  one  of  those  rooms  which 
an  excess  of  light  not  only  fails  to  enliven,  but  seems  even  to 
invest  with  an  additional  degree  of  gloom.  There  is  sometimes 
this  character  about  light,  and  I  have  seen  before  now  a  work- 
house-ward, and  a  barren  schoolroom,  which  have  owed  a  good 
share  of  their  melancholy  to  an  immoderate  amount  of  cold, 
gray  daylight.  This  room,  then,  into  which  I  was  shown, 
was  one  of  those  which,  on  a  wet  day,  seemed  several  de- 
grees lighter  than  the  open  air.  Of  course  it  could  not  be 
really  lighter  than  the  thing  that  lit  it,  but  it  seemed  so.  It  also 
appeared  larger  than  the  whole  out-door  world  ;  and  this,  cer- 
tainly, could  not  be,  either,  but  seemed  so.  Vast  as  it  was,  there 
appeared  through  two  glass  doors  in  one  of  the  walls  another 
apartment  of  similar  dimensions.  It  was  not  a  square  room, 
nor  an  oblong  room,  but  was  smaller  at  one  end  than  at  the 
other  ;  a  phenomenon  which,  as  you  have  very  likely  observed, 
gentlemen,  has  always  an  unpleasant  effect.  The  billiard-table, 
which  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  apartment,  though  really  of 
the  usual  size,  looked  quite  a  trifling  piece  of  furniture;  and  as 
to  the  other  tables,  which  were  planted  sparingly  here  and  there 
for  purposes  of  refreshment,  they  were  quite  lost  in  the  immen- 
sity of  space  about  them.     A  cupboard,  a  rack  of  billiard  cues, 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT.  2g$ 

a  marking-board,  and  a  print  of  the  murder  of  the  Archbishop 
of  Paris,  in  a  black  frame,  alone  broke  the  uniformity  of  wall. 
The  ceiling,  as  far  as  one  could  judge  of  anything  at  that  alti- 
tude, appeared  to  be  traversed  by  an  enormous  beam  with 
rings  fastened  into  it  adapted  for  suicidal  purposes,  and 
splashed  with  the  whitewash  with  which  the  ceiling  itself  and 
the  walls  had  just  been  decorated.  Even  my  little  terrier, 
whom  I  had  been  obliged  to  take  up  in  my  arms  on  account  of 
the  disposition  she  had  manifested  to  fly  at  the  shins  of  our  de- 
tested landlord,  looked  around  the  room  with  a  gaze  of  horror 
as  I  set  her  down,  and  trembled  and  shivered  as  if  she  would 
come  out  of  her  skin. 

"And  so  you  don't  like  him,  Nelly,  and  your  little  beads  of 
eyes,  that  look  up  at  me  from  under  that  hairy  pentdrouse,  with 
nothing  but  love  in  them,  are  all  ablaze  with  fury  when  they  are 
turned  upon  his  sinister  face  ?  And  how  did  he  get  that  scar, 
Nelly  ?  Did  he  get  it  when  he  slaughtered  his  last  traveller  ? 
And  what  do  you  think  of  his  eyes,  Nelly  ?  And  what  do  you 
think  of  the  back  of  his  head,  my  dog?  What  do  you  think 
he's  about  now,  eh?  What  mischief  do  you  think  he's  hatch- 
ing ?  Don't  you  wish  you  were  sitting  by  my  side  in  the  caleche, 
anil  that  we  were  out  on  the  free  road  again  ?  " 

To  all  these  questions  and  remarks,  my  little  companion  re- 
sponded very  intelligibly  by  faint  thumpings  of  the  ground 
with  her  tail,  and  by  certain  flutterings  of  her  ears,  which,  from 
long  habits  of  intercourse,  I  understood  very  well  to  mean  that 
whatever  my  opinion  might  be  she  coincided  in  it. 

1  had  ordered  an  omelet  and  some  wine  when  I  first  entered 
the  house,  and,  as  I  now  sat  waiting  for  it.  I  observed  mat  my 
landlord  would  every  now  and  then  leave  what  he  was  about 
in  the  other  room  — where  I  concluded  that  he  was  engaged 
preparing  my  meal — and  would  come  and  peer  at  me  furtively 
through  the  glass  doors  which  connected  the  room  I  was  in 
with  that  in  which  he  was.  Once,  too,  I  heard  him  go  out,  and 
I  felt  sure  that  he  had  retired  to  the  stables,  to  examine  more 
minutely  the  value  of  my  horse  and  carriage. 

I  took  it  into  my  head  that  my  landlord  was  a  desperate  rogue  ; 
that  his  business  was  not  sufficient  to  support  him  ;  that  he  had 
remarked  that  I  was  in  possession  of  a  very  valuable  horse  and 
carriage,  which  would  fetch  something,  and  a  quantity  of  lug- 
gage in  which  there  were  probably  articles  of  price.  I  had 
other  things  of  worth  about  my  person,  including  a  sum  of 
money,  without  which  I  could  not  be  travelling  about,  as  he 
saw  me,  from  place  to  place. 


296  ■*   MESSAGE   FROM   THE  SEA. 

While  my  mind  was  amusing  itself  with  these  cheerful  reflec- 
tions a  little  girl,  of  about  twelve  years  old.  entered  the  room 
through  the  glass  doors,  and,  after  honouring  me  with  a  long 
stare,  went  to  the  cupboard  at  the  other  end  of  the  apartment, 
and,  opening  it  with  a  bunch  of  keys  which  she  brought 
with  her  in  her  hand,  took  out  a  small  Avhite  paper  packet, 
about  four  inches  square,  and  retired  with  it  by  the  way  by 
which  she  had  entered  ;  still  staring  at  me  so  diligently  that, 
from  want  of  proper. attention  to  where  she  was  going,  she  got 
(1  am  happy  to  state)  a  severe  bump  against  the  door  as  she 
passed  through  it.  She  was  a  horrid  little  girl  this,  with  eyes 
that  in  shirking  the  necessity  of  looking  straight  at  anybody  or 
any  thing,  had  got  at  last  to  look  only  at  her  nose,— finding  it, 
probably,  as  bad  a  nose  as  could  be  met  with,  and  therefore  a 
congenial  companion.  She  had,  moreover,  frizzy  and  fluey 
hair,  was  excessively  dirty,  and  had  a  slow,  crab-like  way  of 
going  along  without  looking  at  what  she  was  about,  which  was 
very  noisome  and  detestable. 

It  was  not  long  before  this  young  lady  reappeared,  bearing 
in  her  hand  a  plate  containing  the  omelet,  which  she  placed 
upon  the  table  without  going  through  the  previous  form  of  lay- 
ing a  cloth.  She  next  cut  an  immense  piece  of  bread  from  a 
loaf  shaped  like  a  ring,  and,  having  clapped  this  also  down 
upon  the  dirtiest  part  of  the  table,  and  having  further  favoured 
me  with  a  wiped  knife  and  fork,  disappeared  once  more.  She 
disappeared  to  fetch  the  wine.  When  this  had  been  brought, 
and  some  water,  the  preparations  for  my  feast  were  considered 
complete,  and  I  was  left  to  enjoy  it  alone. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention  that  the  horrid  waiting-maid  ap- 
peared to  excite  as  strong  an  antipathy  in  the  breast  of  my  little 
dog  as  that  which  my  landlord  himself  had  stirred  up  ;  and  I 
am  happy  to  say,  that,  as  the  child  left  the  room,  I  was  obliged 
to  interfere  to  prevent  Nelly  from  harassing  her  retreating 
calves. 

Gentlemen,  an  experienced  traveller  soon  learns  that  he 
must  eat  to  support  nature  ;  closing  his  eyes,  nose,  and  ears  to 
all  suggestions.  I  set  to  work  then  at  the  omelet  with  energy, 
and  at  the  tough,  sour  bread  with  good-will,  and  had  swallowed 
half  a  tumbler  of  wine  and  water,  when  a  thought  suddenly  oc- 
curred to  me  which  caused  me  to  set  the  glass  down  upon  the 
table.  1  had  no  sooner  done  this  than  I  raised  it  again  to  my 
lips,  took  a  fresh  sip,  rolled  the  liquid  about  in  my  mouth  two 
or  three  times,  and  spat  it  out  upon  the  floor.  But  I  uttered 
as  I  did  so,  in  an  audible  tone,  the  monosyllable  "  Pooh  !  " 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT. 


297 


"  Pooh  !  Nelly,"  I  said,  looking  clown  at  my  clog,  who  was 
watching  me  intensely  with  her  head  on  one  side, — "pooh! 
Nelly,"  I  repeated,  "  what  frantic  and  inconceivable  non- 
sense !  " 

And  what  was  it  that  I  thus  stigmatized  ?  What  was  it  that 
had  made  me  pause  in  the  middle  of  my  draught  ?  What 
thought  was  it  that  caused  me  to  set  down  my  glass  with  half  its 
contents  remaining  in  it  ?  It  was  a  suspicion,  driven  straight 
and  swift  as  an  arrow  into  the  innermost  recesses  of  my  soul, 
that  the  wine  I  had  just  been  drinking,  and  which,  contrary  to 
my  custom,  I  had  mingled  with  water,  was  drugged  ! 

There  are  some  thoughts  which,  like  noxious  insects,  come 
buzzing  back  into  one's  mind  as  often  as  we  repulse  them. 
We  confute  them  in  argument,  prove  them  illogical,  leave  them 
not  a  leg  to  stand  upon,  and  yet  there  they  are  the  next  mo- 
ment as  brisk  as  bees,  and  stronger  on  their  pins  than  ever.  It 
was  just  such  a  thought  as  this  with  which  I  had  now  to  deal. 
It  was  well  to  say  "  Pooh  !  "  It  was  well  to  remind  myself  that 
this  was  the  nineteeth  century,  that  I  was  not  acting  a  part  in 
a  French  melodrama,  that  such  things  as  I  was  thinking  of  were 
only  known  in  romances  ;  it  was  well  to  argue  that  to  set  a  re- 
spectable man  down  as  a  murderer,  because  he  had  peculiar 
colored  eyes,  and  a  scar  upon  his  cheek,  were  ridiculous  things 
to  do.  There  seemed  to  be  two  separate  parties  within  me, — 
one  possessed  of  great  powers  of  argument  and  a  cool  judg- 
ment ;  the  other,  an  irrational  or  opposition  party,  whose  chief 
force  consisted  in  a  system  of  dogged  assertion  which  all  the 
arguments  of  the  rational  party  were  insufficient  to  put  down. 

It  was  not  long  before  an  additional  force  was  imparted  to 
the  tactics  of  the  irrational  party,  by  certain  symptoms  which 
began  to  develop  themselves  in  my  internal  organization,  and 
which  seemed  favourable  to  the  view  of  the  case  I  was  so  anxious 
to  refute.  In  spite  of  all  my  efforts  to  the  contrary,  I  could  not 
help  feeling  that  some  very  remarkable  sensations  were  slowly 
and  gradually  stealing  over  me.  First  of  all,  I  began  to  find 
that  I  was  a  little  at  fault  in  my  system  of  calculating  distances  ; 
so  that  when  I  took  up  any  object  and  attempted  to  replace  it 
on  the  table,  I  either  brought  it  into  contact  with  that  article 
of  furniture  with  a  crash,  in  consequence  of  conceiving  it  to  be 
lower  than  it  was  ;  or  else,  imagining  that  the  table  was  several 
inches  nearer  to  the  ceiling  than  was  the  case,  I  abandoned 
whatever  I  held  in  my  hand  sooner  than  I  should,  and  found 
that  I  was  confiding  it  to  space.  Then,  again,  my  head  felt 
light  upon  my  shoulders,  there    was    a    slight    tingling  in    my 

13* 


298  A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

hands,  and  a  sense  that  they,  as  well  as  my  feet  (which 
were  very  cold)  were  swelling  to  gigantic  size,  and  were  also 
surrounded  with  numerous,  rapidly-revolving  wheels  of  a  light 
structure,  like  Catharine- wheels  previous  to  ignition.  It  also 
appeared  to  me  that  when  I  spoke  to  my  dog,  my  voice  had  a 
curious  sound,  and  my  words  were  very  imperfectly  articu- 
lated. 

It  would  happen,  too,  that  when  I  looked  toward  the  glass- 
doors,  my  landlord  was  there,  peering  at  me  through  the  muslin 
curtain  ;  or  the  horrid  little  girl  would  enter  with  no  obvious 
intention,  and  having  loitered  for  a  little  time  about  the  room, 
would  leave  it  again.  At  length  the  landlord  himself  came  in, 
and  coolly  walking  up  to  the  table  at  which  I  was  seated, 
glanced  at  the  hardly  tasted  wine  before  me. 

"It  would  appear  that  the  wine  of  the  country  is  not  to  your 
taste,"  he  said. 

"  It  is  good  enough,"  I  answered,  as  carelessly  as  I  could  ; 
the  words  sounding  to  me  as  if  they  were  uttered  inside  the  cu- 
pola of  St.  Paul's,  and  were  conveyed  by  iron  tubes  to  the  place 
I  occupied. 

I  was  in  a  strange  state, — perfectly  conscious,  but  imperfectly 
able  to  control  my  thoughts,  my  words,  my  actions.  I  believe 
my  landlord  stood  staring  down  at  me  as  I  sat  staring  up  at 
him,  and  watching  the  Catharine-wheels  as  they  revolved  round 
his  eyes,  and  nose,  and  chin — gentlemen,  they  seemed  absolutely 
to  fizz  when  they  got  to  the  scar  on  his  cheek. 

At  this  time  a  noisy  party  entered  the  main  room  of  the  au- 
berge,  which  I  have  described  as  being  visible  through  the  glass- 
doors,  and  the  landlord  had  to  leave  me  for  a  time  to  go  and 
attend  to  them.  I  think  I  must  have  fallen  into  a  slight  and 
strongly  resisted  doze,  and  that  when  I  started  out  of  it  it  was 
in  consequence  of  the  violent  barking  of  my  terrier.  The  land- 
lord was  in  the  room  ;  he  was  just  unlocking  the  cupboard  from 
which  the  little  girl  had  taken  the  paper  parcel.  He  took  out 
just  such  another  paper  parcel,  and  returned  again  through  the 
doors.  As  he  did  so,  I  remember  stupidly  wondering  what  had 
become  of  the  little  girl.  Presently  his  evil  face  appeared  again 
at  the  door. 

"  I  am  going  to  prepare  the  coffee,"  said  the  landlord  ;  "  per- 
haps monsieur  will  like  it  better  than  the  wine." 

As  the  man  disappeared  1  started  suddenly  and  violently 
upon  my  feet.  I  could  deceive  myself  no  longer.  My  thoughts 
were  like  lightning.  "  The  wine  having  teen  taken  in  so  small 
a  quantity  and  so  profusely   mixed  with   water,    has  done    its 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT.  2QQ 

work  (as  this  man  can  see)  but  imperfectly.  The  coffee  will 
finish  that  work.  He  is  now  preparing  it.  The  cupboard, 
the  little  parcel — there  can  be  no  doubt.  I  will  leave  this 
place  while  I  yet  can.  Now  or  never  ;  if  those  men  whose 
voices  I  hear  in  the  other  room  leave  the  house,  it  will  be  too 
late.  With  so  many  witnesses  no  attempt  will  be  made  to  pre- 
vent my  departure.  I  will  noX.  sleep. — I  will  act, — I  will  force 
my  muscles  to  their  work,  and  get  away  from  this  place." 

Gentlemen,  in  compensation  for  a  set  of  nerves  of  distressing 
sensitiveness,  I  have  received  from  nature  a  remarkable  power 
of  controlling  my  nerves  for  a  time.  I  staggered  to  the  door, 
closing  it  after  me  more  violently  than  I  had  intended,  and  de- 
scended—the fresh  air  making  me  feel  very  giddy — into  the 
yard. 

As  I  went  down  the  steps  I  saw  the  little  girl  of  whom  I  have 
already  spoken  entering  the  yard,  followed  by  a  blacksmith, 
carrying  a  hammer  and  some  other  implements  of  his  trade. 
Catching  sight  of  me,  the  girl  spoke  quickly  to  the  blacksmith, 
and  in  an  instant  they  both  changed  their  course,  which  was  di- 
rected toward  the  stable,  and  entered  an  outhouse  on  the  other 
side  of  the  yard.  The  thought  entered  my  head  that  this  man 
had  been  sent  for  to  drive  a  nail  into  my  horse's  foot,  so  that  in 
the  event  of  the  drugged  wine  failing  I  might  still  be  unable  to 
proceed.  This  horrible  idea  added  new  force  to  my  exertions. 
I  seized  the  shafts  of  my  carriage  and  commenced  dragging  it 
out  of  the  yard  and  round  to  the  front  of  the  house;  feeling 
that  if  it  was  once  in  the  highway  there  would  be  less  possibility 
of  offering  any  impediment  to  my  starting.  I  am  conscious  of 
having  fallen  twice  to  the  ground  in  my  struggles  to  get  the 
carriage  out  of  the  yard.  Next  I  hastened  to  the  stable.  My 
mare  was  still  harnessed,  with  the  exception  of  the  headstall. 
I  managed  to  get  the  bit  into  her  mouth,  and  dragged  her  to 
the  place  where  1  had  left  the  carriage.  After  I  know  not  how 
many  efforts  to  place  the  docile  beast  in  the  shafts — for  I  was 
as  incapable  of  calculating  distances  as  a  drunken  man — I  rec- 
ollect, but  how  1  know  not,  securing  the  assistance  of  the  boy 
I  had  seen.  I  was  making  a  final  effort  to  fasten  the  trace  to 
its  little  pin,  when  a  voice  behind  me  said, 

"  Are  you  going  away  without  drinking  your  coffee  ?  " 

I  turned  round  and  saw  my  landlord  standing  close  beside 
me.  He  was  watching  my  bungling  efforts  to  secure  the  har- 
ness, but  he  made  no  movement  to  assist  me. 

"  I  do  not  want  any  coffee,"  I  answered. 

"  No  coffee,  and  no  wine  !     It  would  appear  that  the  gentle- 


300  A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

man  is  not  a  great  drinker.  You  have  not  given  your  horse 
much  of  a  rest,"  he  added,  presently. 

"  I  am  in  haste.     What  have  I  to  pay  ?  " 

"You  will  take  something  else,"  said  the  landlord;  "a  glass 
of  brandy  before  starting  in  the  wet?" 

"  No,  nothing  more.     What  have  I  to  pay  ?  " 

"  You  will  at  least  come  in  for  an  instant,  and  warm  your  feet 
at  the  stove  ?  " 

"  No.     Tell  me  at  once  how  much  I  am  to  pav." 

Baffled  in  all  his  efforts  to  get  me  again  into  the  house,  my 
detested  landlord  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  answer  my  demand. 

"  Four  litres  of  oats,"  he  muttered,  "  a  half-truss  of  hay, 
breakfast,  wine,  coffee," — he  emphasized  the  last  two  words 
with  a  malignant  grin, — "  seven  francs  fifty  centimes." 

My  mare  was  by  this  time  somehow  or  ofc-her  buckled  into 
the  shafts,  andnow  I  had  to  get  out  my  purse  to  pay  this  de- 
mand. My  hands  were  cold,  my  head  was  giddy,  my  sight  was 
dim,  and,  as  I  brought  out  my  purse  (which  was  a  porte-mon- 
naie,  opening  with  a  hinge),  I  managed  while  paying  the  bill 
to  turn  the  purse  over  and  to  drop  some  gold  pieces. 

"  Gold  ! "  cried  the  boy  who  had  been  helping  me  to  harness 
the  horse,  speaking  as  if  by  an  irresistible  impulse. 

The  landlord  made  a  sudden  dart  at  it,  but  instantly  checked 
himself. 

"People  want  plenty  of  gold,"  he  said,  "when  they  make  a 
journey  of  pleasure." 

I  felt  myself  getting  worse.  I  could  not  pick  up  the  gold 
pieces  as  they  lay  on  the  ground.  I  fell  on  my  knees,  and  my 
head  bowed  forward.  I  could  not  hit  the  place  where  a  coin 
lay  ;  I  could  see  it,  but  I  could  not  guide  my  fingers  to  it. 
Still  I  did  not  yield.  I  got  some  of  the  money  up,  and  the 
stable-boy,  who  was  very  officious  in  assisting  me,  gave  me  one 
or  two  pieces, — to  this  day  I  don't  know  how  many  he  kept. 
I  cast  a  hasty  glance,  and  seeing  no  more  gold  on  the  ground, 
raised  myself  by  a  desperate  effort,  and  scrambled  to  my  place 
in  the  carriage.  I  shook  the  reins  instinctively,  and  the  mare 
began  to  move. 

The  well-trained  beast  was  beginning  to  trot  away  as  cleverly 
as  usual,  when  a  thought  suddenly  flashed  into  my  brain,  as  will 
sometimes  happen  when  we  are  just  going  to  sleep, — a  thought 
which  woke  me  up  like  a  pistol-shot,  and  caused  me  to  spring 
forward  and  gather  up  the  reins  so  violently  as  almost  to  bring 
the  mare  back  upon  her  haunches. 

"  My  dog,  my  dear  little  Nelly  !  "   I  had  left  her  behind  ! 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT.  301 

To  abandon  my  little  favourite  was  a  thing  that  never  entered 
my  head.  "  No,  I  must  return.  I  must  go  back  to  the  horri- 
ble place  I  have  just  escaped  from.  He  has  seen  my  gold,  too, 
now,'"  I  said  to  myself  as  I  turned  my  horse's  head  with  many 
clumsy  efforts ;  "  the  men  who  were  drinking  in  the  auberge 
are  gone  ;  and,  what  is  worse  than  all,  I  feel  more  under  the 
influence  of  the  drug  I  have  swallowed." 

As  I  approached  the  auberge  once  more  I  remember  notic- 
ing that  its  walls  looked  blacker  than  ever,  that  the  rain  was 
falling  more  heavily,  that  the  landlord  and  the  stable-boy  were 
on  the  steps  of  the  inn,  evidently  on  the  look-out  for  me.  One 
thing  more  I  noticed, — on  the  road  a  small  speck,  as  of  some 
vehicle  nearing  the  place. 

"  I  have  come  back  for  my  dog,"  said  I. 

"I  know  nothing  of  your  dog." 

"  It  is  false  !     I  left  her  shut  up  in  the  inner  room." 

"  Go  there  and  find  her  then,"  retorted  the  man,  throwing 
off  all  disguise. 

"  I  will,"  was  my  answer. 

I  knew  it  was  a  trap  to  get  me  into  the  house  ;  I  knew  I  was 
lost  if  I  entered  it ;  but  I  did  not  care.  I  descended  from  the 
carriage,  I  clambered  up  the  steps  with  the  aid  of  the  balusters, 
I  heard  the  barking  of  my  little  Nelly  as  I  passed  through  the 
outer  room  and  approached  the  glass  doors,  steadying  myself 
as  I  went  by  the  articles  of  furniture  in  the  room.  I  burst  the 
doors  open,  and  my  favourite  bounded  into  my  arms. 

And  now  I  felt  that  it  was  too  late.  As  I  approached  the 
door  that  opened  to  the  road,  I  saw  my  carriage  being  led 
round  to  the  back  of  the  house,  and  the  form  of  the  landlord 
appeared  in  the  door-way  blocking  up  the  passage.  I  made 
an  effort  to  push  past  him,  but  it  was  useless.  My  little  Nelly 
fell  out  of  my  arms  on  the  steps  outside  ;  the  landlord  slammed 
the  door  heavily  ;  and  I  fell  without  sense  or  knowledge  at  his 
feet. 

He  =H  H«  H=  *  * 

It  was  dark,  gentlemen, — dark,  and  very  cold.  The  little 
patch  of  sky  I  was  looking  up  at  had  in  it  a  marvellous  number 
of  stars,  which  would  have  looked  bright  but  for  a  blazing  planet 
which  seemed  to  eclipse,  in  the  absence  of  the  moon,  all  the 
other  luminaries  round  about  it.  To  lie  thus  was.  in  spite  of 
the  cold,  quite  a  luxurious  sensation.  As  I  turned  my  head 
to  ease  it  a  little  (for  it  seemed  to  have  been  in  this  position 
some  time),  I  felt  stiff  and  weak. 

At  this  moment,  too,  I  feel  a  stirring  close  beside  me,  and 


302 


A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 


first  a  cold  nose  touching  my  hand,  and  then  a  hot  tongue 
licking  it.  As  to  my  other  sensation,  I  was  aware  of  a  gentle 
rumbling  sound,  and  could  feci  that  I  was  being  carried  slowly 
along,  and  that  every  now  and  then  there  was  a  slight  jolt; 
one  of  which,  perhaps  more  marked  than  the  rest,  might  be  the 
cause  of  my  being  awake  at  all. 

Presently  other  matters  began  to  dawn  upon  my  mind  through 
the  medium  of  my  senses.  I  could  see  the  regular  movement 
of  a  horse's  ears  walking  in  front  of  me  ;  surely  I  saw,  too.  part 
of  the  figure  of  a  man, — a  pair  of  sturdy  shoulders,  the  hood  of 
a  coat,  and  a  head  with  a  wide-awake  hat  upon  it.  I  could 
hear  the  occasional  sounds  of  encouiagement  which  seemed  to 
emanate  from  this  figure,  and  which  were  addressed  to  the  horse. 
I  could  hear  the  tinkling  of  bells  upon  the  animal's  neck. 
Surely,  too,  1  heard  a  rumbling  sound  behind  us,  and  the  tread 
of  a  horse's  feet, — just  as  if  there  were  another  vehicle  following 
close  upon  us.  Was  there  anything  more  ?  Yes,  in  the  dis- 
tance I  was  able  to  detect  the  twinkling  of  a  light  or  two,  as  if 
a  town  were  not  far  oft". 

Now,  gentlemen,  as  I  lay  and  observed  all  these  things,  there 
was  such  a  languor  shed  over  my  spirits,  such  a  sense  of  utter, 
but  not  unpleasant  weakness,  that  I  hardly  cared  to  ask  myself 
what  it  all  meant,  or  to  inquire  where  I  was  or  how  I  came 
there.  A  conviction  that  all  was  well  with  me  lay  like  an 
anodyne  upon  my  heart,  and  it  was  only  slowly  and  gradually 
that  any  curiosity  as  to  how  I  came  to  be  so,  developed  itself 
in  my  brain.  I  dare  say  we  had  been  jogging  along  for  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour,  during  which  1  had  been  perfectly  conscious, 
before  I  struggled  up  into  a  sitting  posture,  and  recognized  the 
hooded  back  of  the  man  at  the  horse's  head. 

"  Dufay  ?  " 

The  man  with  the  hooded  coat,  who  was  walking  by  the  side 
of  the  horse,  suddenly  cried  out  "Wo!"  in  a  sturdy  voice; 
then  ran  to  the  back  of  the  carriage  and  cried  out  "Wo!" 
again  ;  and  then  we  came  to  a  stand-still.  In  another  moment 
he  had  mounted  on  the  step  of  the  carriage,  and  had  taken  me 
cordially  by  the  hand. 

"  What,"  he  said,  "  awake  at  last  ?  Thank  Heaven  !  I  had 
almost  begun  to  despair  of  you." 

"  My  dear  friend,  what  does  all  this  mean  ?  Where  am  I  ? 
Where  did  you  come  from  ?  This  is  not  my  caliche,  this  is 
not  my  horse." 

"  Both  are  safe  behind,"  said  Dufay,  heartily ;  "  and  having 
told  you  so  much,  I  will  not  utter  another  word  till  you  are 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT. 


303 


safe  and  warm  at  the  Lion  d'Or.  See  !  There  are  the  lights 
of  the  town.  Now,  not  another  word."  And,  pulling  the 
horse-cloth  under  which  I  was  lying  more  closely  over  me,  my 
friend  dismounted  from  the  step,  started  the  vehicle  with  the 
customary  cry,  of  "  Allons  done  !  "  and  a  crack  of  the  whip, 
and  we  were  soon  once  more  in  motion. 

Castaing  Dufay  was  a  man  into  whose  company  circum- 
stances had  thrown  me  very  often,  and  with  whom  I  had  be- 
come intimate  from  choice.  Of  the  numerous  class  to  which 
he  belonged,  those  men  whose  sturdy  vehicles  and  sturdier 
horses  are  to  be  seen  standing  in  the  yards  and  stables  of  all 
the  inns  in  provincial  France, — the  class  of  the  commis-voya- 
geurs,  or  French  commercial  travellers, — Castaing  Dufay  was 
more  than  a  favourable  specimen.  I  was  very  fond  of  him. 
In  the  course  of  our  intimacy  I  had  been  fortunate  enough  to 
have  the  opportunity  of  being  useful  to  him  in  matters  of  some 
importance.  I  think,  gentlemen,  we  like  those  we  have  served 
quite  as  well  as  they  like  us. 

The  town  lights  were  indeed  close  by,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  we  turned  into  the  yard  of  the  Lion  d'Or,  and  found 
ourselves  in  the  midst  of  warmth  and  brightness,  and  surrounded 
by  faces  which,  after  the  dangers  I  had  passed  through,  looked 
perfectly  angelic. 

I  had  no  idea,  till  I  attempted  to  move,  how  weak  and  dazed 
I  was.  I  was  too  far  gone  for  dinner.  A  bed  and  a  fire  were 
the  only  things  I  coveted,  and  I  was  soon  in  possession  of 
both. 

I  was  no  sooner  snugly  ensconced  with  my  head  on  the  pil- 
low, watching  the  crackling  logs  as  they  sparkled, — my  little 
Nelly  lying  outside  the  counterpane, — than  my  friend  seated 
himself  beside  me,  and  volunteered  to  relieve  my  curiosity  as 
to  the  circumstance  of  my  escape  from  the  Tete  Noir.  It  was 
now  my  turn  to  refuse  to  listen,  as  it  had  been  his  before  to 
refuse  to  speak. 

"Not  one  word,"  I  said,  "  till  you  have  had  a  good  dinner, 
after  which  you  will  come  up  and  sit  beside  me,  and  tell  me  all 
I  am  longing  to  know.  And  stay, — you  will  do  one  thing  more 
for  me,  I  know  ;  when  you  come  up  you  will  bring  me  a  plate- 
ful of  bones  for  Nelly  ;  she  will  not  leave  me  to  night,  I  swear, 
to  save  herself  from  starving." 

"  She  deserves  some  dinner."  said  Dufay,  as  he  left  the  100m, 
"  for  I  think  it  is  through  her  instrumentality  that  you  are  alive 
at  this  moment." 

The  bliss  in  which  I  lay  after   Dufay  had  left  the  room  is 


304 


A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 


known  only  to  those  who  have  passed  through  some  great 
danger,  or  who,  at  least,  are  newly  relieved  from  some  condi- 
tion of  severe  and  protracted  suffering.  It  was  a  state  of  per- 
fect repose  and  happiness. 

When  my  friend  came  back,  he  brought, — not  only  a  plate 
of  fowl-bones  for  Nelly,  but  a  basin  of  soup  for  me.  When  I 
had  finished  lapping  it  up,  and  while  Nelly  was  still  crunching 
the  bones,  Uufay  spoke  as  follows  : 

"  I  said  just  now  that  it  was  to  your  little  dog  you  owe  the 
preservation  of  your  life,  and  I  must  now  tell  you  how  it  was. 
You  remember  that  you  left  Doulaise  this  morning  — " 

"  It  seems  a  week  ago,"  I  interrupted. 

"This  morning,"  continued  Dufay.  "Well  you  were  hardly 
out  of  the  inn-yard  before  I  drove  into  it,  having  made  a  small 
stage  before  breakfast.  I  heard  where  you  were  gone,  and,  as 
I  was  going  that  way  too,  I  determined  to  give  my  horse  a  rest 
of  a  couple  of  hours,  while  I  breakfasted  and  transacted  some 
business  in  the  town,  and  then  set  off  after  you.  '  Have  you 
any  idea,'  I  said,  as  1  left  the  inn  at  Doulaise,  '  whether  monsieur 
meant  to  stop  en  route,  and  if  so,  where?'  The  garcpn  did 
not  know.  '  Let  me  see,'  I  said,  '  the  Tete  Noire  at  Maucon- 
siel  would  be  a  likely  place,  wouldn't  it?'  '  No,'  said  the  boy; 
'  the  house  does  not  enjoy  a  good  character,  and  no  one  from 
here  ever  stops  there.'  '  Well,'  said  I,  thinking  no  more  of 
what  he  said,  '  I  shall  be  sure  to  find  him.  I  will  inquire  after 
him  as  I  go  along.' 

"The  afternoon  was  Getting;  on  when  I   came  within   sight  of 

Do  o 

the  inn  of  the  Tete  Noire.  As  you  know,  I  am  a  little  near- 
sighted, but  I  saw,  as  I  drew  near  the  auberge,  that  a  convey- 
ance of  some  kind  was  being  taken  round  to  the  yard  at  the 
back  of  the  house.  This  circumstance,  however,  I  should  have 
paid  no  attention  to,  had  not  my  attention  been  suddenly 
caught  by  the  violent  barking  of  a  dog,  which  seemed  to  be 
trying  to  gain  admittance  at  the  closed  door  of  the  inn.  At  a 
second  glance  I  knew  the  dog  to  be  yours.  Pulling  up  my 
horse,  I  got  down  and  ascended  the  steps  of  the  auberge.  One 
V  sniff  at  my  shins  was  enough  to  convince  Nelly  that  a  friend 
was  at  hand,  and  her  excitement  as  I  approached  the  door  was 
frantic. 

"  On  my  entering  the  house  I  did  not  at  first  see  you,  but  on 
looking  in  the  direction  toward  which  your  dog  had  hastened 
as  soon  as  the  door  was  opened,  I  saw  a  dark  wooden  staircase, 
which  led  out  of  one  corner  of  the  apartment  I  was  standing 
in.     I  saw,  also,  that  you,  my  friend,  were  being  dragged  up 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT. 


305 


the  stairs  in  the  arms  of  a  very  ill-looking  man,  assisted  by  (if 
possible)  a  still  more  ill-looking  little  girl,  who  had  charge  of 
your  legs.  At  sight  of  me  the  man  deposited  you  upon  the 
stairs,  and  advanced  to  meet  me. 

"  'What  are  you  doing  with  that  gentleman  ?'   I  asked. 

"  '  He  is  unwell,'  replied  the  ill-looking  man,  '  and  I  am 
helping  him  upstairs  to  bed.' 

"  'That gentleman  is  a  friend  of  mine.  What  is  the  meaning 
of  his  being  in  this  state  ?  ' 

"  '  How  should  I  know  ? '  was  the  answer ;  '  I  am  not  the 
guardian  of  the  gentleman's  health.' 

"  '  Well,  then,  I  am,'  said  I,  approaching  the  place  where 
you  were  lying ;  '  and  I  prescribe,  to  begin  with,  that  he  shall 
leave  this  place  at  once.' 

"  I  must  own,"  continued  Dufay,  "  that  you  were  looking 
horribly  ill,  and  as  I  bent  over  and  felt  your  haully  fluttering 
pulse,  I  felt  for  a  moment  doubtful  whether  it  was  safe  to  move 
you.     However,  I  determined  to  risk  it. 

"  '  Will  you  help  me,'  I  said,  '  to  move  this  gentleman  to  his 
carriage  ? ' 

"  '  No,'  replied  the  ruffian,  '  he  is  not  tit  to  travel.  Besides, 
what  right  have  you  over  him  ?  ' 

"  '  The  right  of  being  his  friend.' 

"  '  How  do  I  know  that  ? ' 

"  '  Because  I  tell  you.     See,  his  dog  knows  me.' 

"  '  Suppose  I  decline  to  accept  that  as  evidence,  and  refuse 
to  let  this  gentleman  leave  my  house  in  his  present  state  of 
health  ? ' 

"  '  You  dare  not  do  it.' 

'"Why  ?' 

"  '  Because,'  I  answered,  slowly,  '  I  should  go  to  the  Gen- 
darmerie in  the  village,  and  mention  under  what  suspicious 
circumstances  I  found  my  friend  here,  and  because  your  house 
has  not  the  best  of  characters.' 

"  The  man  was  silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  a  little  baffled.  He 
seemed,  however,  determined  to  try  once  more. 

"  'And  suppose  I  close  my  doors,  and  decline  to  let  either 
of  you  go  ;  what  is  to  prevent  me  ?  ' 

"  'In  the  first  place,'  I  answered,  '/will  effectually  prevent 
you  detaining  me  single-handed.  If  you  have  assistance  near, 
I  am  expected  to-night  at  Francy,  and  if  I  do  not  arrive  there, 
I  shall  soon  be  sought  out.  It  was  known  that  I  left  Doulaise 
this  morning,  and  most  people  are  aware  that  there  is  an  auberge 


306  ft    MESSAGE  FROM   THE   SEA. 

on  the  road  which  does  not  bear  the  best  of  reputations,  and 
that  its  name  is  La  Tete  Noire.     Now  will  you  help  me  ?' 

"  '  No,'  replied  the  savage.  '  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  affair.' 

"  It  was  not  an  easy  task  to  drag  you  without  assistance  from 
the  place  where  you  were  lying,  out  into  the  open  air,  down  the 
steps,  and  put  you  into  my  conveyance,  which  was  standing 
outside  ;  but  I  managed  to  do  it.  The  next  thing  1  had  to 
accomplish  was  the  feat  of  driving  two  carriages  and  two  horses 
single-handed.  I  could  see  only  one  way  in  managing  this.  I 
led  my  own  horse  round  to  the  gate  of  the  stable-yard,  where  I 
could  keep  my  eye  upon  him,  while  1  went  in  search  of  your 
horse  and  carriage,  which  I  had  to  get  right  without  assistance. 
It  was  done  at  last.  I  fastened  your  horse's  head  by  a  halter  to 
the  back  of  my  carriage,  and  then,  leading  my  own  beast  by 
the  bridle,  I  managed  to  start  the  procession.  And  so  (though 
only  at  a  foot-pace)  we  turned  our  backs  upon  the  Tete  Noire. 
And  now  you  know  everything." 

"  I  feel,  Castaing,  as  if  I  should  never  be  able  to  think  of 
this  adventure,  or  speak  of  it  again.  It  wears,  somehow  or  an- 
other, such  a  ghastly  aspect,  that  I  sicken  at  the  mere  memory 
of  it." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Dufay,  cheerily;  "you  will  live  to 
tell  it  as  a  stirring  tale  some  winter  night,  take  my  word  for 
it." 

Gentlemen,  the  prediction  is  verified.  May  the  teetotum  fall 
next  time  with  more  judgment  ! 

"Wa'al,  now!"  said  Captain  Jorgan,  rising,  with  Ins  hand 
upon  the  sleeve  of  his  fellow-traveller  to  keep  him  down  ;  "  I 
congratulate  you,  sir,  upon  that  adventer  ;  unpleasant  at  the 
time,  but  pleasant  to  look  back  upon,  as  many  adventers  in 
many  lives  are.  Mr.  Tredgear,  you  had  a  feeling  for  your 
money  on  that  occasion,  and  it  went  hard  on  being  Stolen 
Money.     It  was  not  a  sum  of  five  hundred  pound,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  I  wish  it  had  been  half  as  much,"  was  the  reply. 

"Thank  you,  sir.  Might  I  ask  the  question  of  you  that  has 
been  already  put?  Ab'out  this  place  of  Lanrean  did  you  ever 
hear  of  any  circumstances  whatever  that  might  seem  to  have  a 
bearing — anyhow — on  that  question  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Thank  you  again  for  a  straightfor'ard  answer,"  said  the  cap 
tain,  apologetically.  "You  see,  we  have  been  referred  to  Lan- 
rean to  make  inquiries,  and  happening  in  among  the  inhabitants 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT.  307 

present,  we  use  the  opportunity:     In  my  country  we  always  do 
use  opportunities." 

'•And  you  turn  them  to  good  account,  I  believe,  and  pros- 
per ?  " 

"  It 's  a  fact,  sir,"  said  the  captain,  "  that  we  get  along.  Yes, 
we  get  along,  sir. — But  I  stop  the  teetotum." 

It  was  twirled  again,  and  fell  to  David  Polreath, — an  iron- 
gray  man  ;  '•  as  old  as  the  hills,"  tire  captain  whispered  to 
Young  Raybrock,  "  and  as  hard  as  nails.  And  I  admire,"  added 
the  captain,  glancing  about,  "  whether  Unchris'en  Penrevven  is 
here,  and  which  is  he  !  " 

David  Polreath  stroked  down  the  long,  iron-gray  hair  that 
fell  massively  upon  the  shoulders  of  his  large-buttoned  coat, 
and  spake  thus  : 

The  question  was,  Did  he  throw  himself  over  the  cliff  of  set 
purpose,  or  did  he  lose  his  way  in  the  dusk  and  fall  over  acci- 
dentally, or  was  he  pushed  over  by  some  person  or  persons 
unknown  ? 

His  body  was  found  nearly  fifty  yards  below  the  fall,  caught 
in  the  low  branches  of  trees  that  overhang  the  water  at  the 
foot  of  the  track  down  the  cliff.  It  was  shockingly  bruised  and 
disfigured,  so  much  so  as  to  be  hardly  recognizable  ;  but  for  his 
clothing  and  the  name  on  his  linen  I  doubt  whether  anybody 
could  have  identified  him  except  myself.  There  was,  however,  no 
suspicion  of  foul  play  ;  the  signs  of  rough  usage  might  all  have 
been  caused  by  the  body  having  been  driven  about  among  the 
stones  that  encumber  the  bed  of  the  river  a  long  way  below  the 
fall. 

When  I  speak  of  the  fall,  I  speak  of  the  Ashenfall,  by  Ashen- 
dell  village,  within  an  hours  drive  of  this  house.  This,  gentle- 
man, is  for  the  information  of  strangers. 

He  had  been  seen  by  many  persons  about  the  village  during 
the  day  ;  I  myself  had  seen  him  go  up  the  hill  past  the  parson- 
age toward  the  church, — which  I  rather  wondered  at  consider- 
ing who  was  buried  there,  and  how,  and  why.  I  will  even  confess 
that  I  watched  him  ;  and  he  went — as  I  expected  he  would, 
since  he  had  the  heart  to  go  near  the  place  at  all — round  to  the 
back  of  the  church  where  Honor  Livingston's  grave  is  ;  and 
there  he  stayed,  sitting  by  himself  on  the  low  wall  for  an  hour 
or  more.  Sometimes  he  turned  to  look  across  the  valley, — 
many  a  time  and  oft  I  had  seen  him  there  before,  with  Honor 
beside  him,  watching,  while  he  sketched  the  beautiful  landscape, 
—and  sometimes  he  had  his  back  to  it,  and  his  head  down,  as 


308  A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

if  he  were  watching  her  grave.  Not  that  there  is  anything  pleas- 
ant or  comforting  to  read  there,  as  on  the  graves  of  good  Chris- 
tian people  who  have  died  in  their  beds  ;  for,  being  a  suicide, 
when  they  buried  her  on  the  north  side  of  the  church;  it  was 
at  dusk,  and  without  any  service,  and,  of  course,  no  stone  was 
allowed  to  be  put  up  over  it.  Our  clergyman  has  talked  of 
having  the  mound  levelled  and  turfed  over,  and  I  wish  he  would  ; 
it  always  hurts  me  when  I  go  up  to  Sunday  service,  to  see  that 
ragged  grave  lying  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall,  for  I  remember 
the  pretty  little  lass  ever  since  she  could  run  alone;  and  though 
she  was  passionate,  her  heart  was  as  good  as  gold.  She  had  been 
religiously  brought  up,  and  I  am  quite  sure  in  my  own  mind, 
let  the  coroner's  inquest  have  said  what  it  would,  that  she  was 
out  of  herself,  and  Bedlam-mad  when  she  did  it. 

The  verdict  on  him  was  "  accidental  death,"  and  he  had  a 
regular  funeral, — priest,  bell,  clerk,  and  sexton,  complete  ;  and 
there  he  lies,  only  a  stone's-throw  from  Honor,  with  a  ton  or 
two  of  granite  over  him,  and  an  inscription  setting  forth  what  a 
great  man  he  was  in  his  day,  and  what  mighty  engineering  works 
he  did  at  home  and  abroad,  and  how  he  sleeps  now  in  the  hope 
of  a  joyful  resurrection  with  the  just  made  perfect.  These  pres- 
ent strangers  can  read  it  for  themselves ;  many  strangers  go 
up  to  look  at  it.  His  grave  is  as  famous  as  the  Ashenfall  itself, 
and  I  have  known  folks  come  away  with  tears  in  their  eyes  after 
reading  the  flourishing  inscription  ;  believing  it  all  like  gospel, 
and  saying  how  sad  that  so  distinguished  a  man  should  have 
been  cut  off  in  the  prime  of  his  days.  But  I  don't  believe  it. 
He  was  never  any  more  than  plain  James  Lawrence  to  me, — a 
young  fellow  who,  as  a  lad,  had  paddled  bare-legged  over  the 
stones  of  the  river  as  a  guide  across  for  visitors,  who  had  been 
taken  a  fancy  to  by  one  of  them,  and  decently  educated  ;  who 
had  made  the  most  of  his  luck,  and  done  a  clever  thing  or  two 
in  engineering ;  who  had  come  back  among  us  in  all  his  glory, 
to  dazzle  most  people's  eyes,  and  break  little  Honor  Livingston's 
heart.  The  one  good  thing  I  know  of  him  was,  that  he  pen- 
sioned his  poor  old  mother ;  but  he  did  not  often  come  near 
her,  and  never  after  Honor  Livingston  was  dead, — no,  not  even 
in  her  last  illness.  It  was  a  marvel  to  everybody  what  brought 
him  over  here,  when  we  saw  him  the  day  before  he  was  found 
dead  ;  but  it  was  his  fate,  and  he  couldn't  keep  away.  That  is 
my  view  of  it.  About  his  death  and  the  manner  of  it,  all  Lan- 
rean  had  its  speculation,  and  said  its  say  ;  but  I  held  my  peace. 
I  had  my  opinion,  however,  and  I  keep  it.  I  have  never  seen 
reason  to  change  it ;    but,  on    the  contrary,  I  can  show  you 


THE    CLUB -NIGHT. 


309 


evidence  to  establish  it.  I  do  not  believe  he  either  threw  him- 
self over  the  cliff,  or  fell  over,  or  was  pushed  over  ;  no,  I  be- 
lieve he  was  drawn  over, — drawn  over  by  something  below. 
When  you  have  heard  the  notes  he  made  in  a  little  book  that 
was  found  among  his  things  after  he  was  dead,  you  will  know 
what  I  mean.  His  cousin  gave  that  book  to  me,  knowing  I  am 
curious  after  odd  stories  of  the  neighbourhood  ;  and  what  I  am 
going  to  read,  is  written  in  his  hand.  I  know  his  hand  well, 
and  certify  to  it. 

PASSAGES    FROM    JAMES    LAWRENCE'S    JOURNAL. 

London,  August  11,   1829. 

Honor  Livingston  has  kept  her  word  with  me.  I  saw  her 
last  night  as  plainly  as  I  now  see  this  pen  I  am  writing  with, 
and  the  ink-bottle  I  have  just  dipped  it  into.  I  saw  her  stand- 
ing betwixt  the  two  lights,  looking  at  me,  exactly  as  she  looked 
the  last  time  I  saw  her  alive.  1  was  neither  asleep  nor  dream- 
ing awake.  I  had  only  drunk  a  couple  of  glasses  of  wine  at 
dinner,  and  was  as  much  my  own  man  as  ever  I  was  in  my  life. 
It  is  all  nonsense  to  talk  about  fancy  and  optical  delusions  in 
this  case  ;  I  saw  her  with  my  eyes  as  distinctly  as  I  ever  saw  her 
alive  in  the  body.  The  hall  clock  had  just  struck  eight,  and  it 
was  growing  dusk  ;  exactly  the  time  of  evening,  as  I  well  re- 
member, when  she  came  creeping  round  by  the  cottage  wall,  and 
saw  me  through  the  open  window,  gathering  up  my  books  and 
making  ready  to  go  away  from  Ashendell.  She  was  the  last 
thought  to  have  come  into  my  mind  at  that  moment,  for  I  was 
just  on  the  point  of  lighting  my  cigar  and  going  out  for  a  stroll, 
before  turning  in  at  the  Daltons  to  chat  with  Anne.  All  at  once 
there  she  was,  Honor  herself!  I  could  have  sworn  it,  had  I 
not  seen  them  put  her  under  ground  just  a  twelvemonth  ago. 
I  could  not  take  my  eyes  off  her  ;  and  there  she  stood,  as  nearly 
as  I  can  tell,  a  minute, — but  it  may  have  been  an  hour, — and 
then  the  place  she  had  filled  was  empty.  I  was  so  much  be- 
wildered and  out  of  myself  as  it  were,  that  for  a  while  I  could 
neither  think  of  anything,  nor  hear  anything,  but  the  mad,  heavy 
throbbing  of  my  own  pulses.  I  cannot  say  that  I  was  scared 
exactly  ;  for  the  time  I  was  completely  rapt  away  ;  the  first 
actual  sensation  I  had  was  of  my  own  heart  thumping  in  my 
breast  like  a  sledge-hammer. 

But  I  can  call  her  up  now  and  analyze  her, — a  wan,  vague, 
misty  outline,    with  Honor's  own  eyes  full  upon  me.     1  can 


310  A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

almost  fancy  I  hear  her  asking  again,  "  Is  it  true  you're  going, 
James?     You're  not  really  going,  James  ?"    ' 

Now  I  am  not  the  man  to  be  frightened  by  a  shadow,  though 
that  shadow  be  Honor  Livingston,  whom  they  say  I  as  good  as 
murdered.  I  always  had  a  turn  for  investigating  riddles,  spirit- 
ual, physiological,  and  otherwise,  and  1  shall  follow  this  mystery 
up,  and  note  whether  she  comes  back  to  me  year  by  year,  as 
she  promised.  I  have  never  kept  a  diary  of  personal  matters 
before,  not  being  one  who  cares  to  see  spectres  of  himself  at  re- 
mote periods  of  his  life,  talking  to  him  again  of  his  adventures 
and  misadventures  out  of  yellow  old  pages  that  had  better  never 
have  been  written  ;  but  this  is  a  marked  event  worth  commem- 
orating, and  a  well-authenticated  ghost  story  to  me  who  never 
believed  in  ghosts  before. 

It  was  a  rather  spiteful  threat  of  Honor, — "I'll  haunt  you 
till  you  come  to  the  Ashenfall,  where  I'm  going  now  !  "  I  might 
have  stopped  her,  but  it  never  entered  my  mind  what  she  meant 
until  it  was  done.  I  did  not  expect  she  would  make  a  tragedy 
of  a  little  love-story  ;  she  did  not  look  like  that  sort  of  thing. 
She  was  no  ghost,  bless  her  !  in  the  flesh,  but  as  round,  rosy, 
dimpled  a  little  creature  as  one  would  wish  to  see  ;  and  what 
could  possess  her  to  throw  herself  over  the  fall,  Heaven  only 
knows.  Bah  !  Yes,  I  know  ;  I  need  tell  no  lies  here,  I  need 
not  do  any  false  swearing  to  myself, — the  poor  little  creature 
loved  me,  and  I  wanted  her  to  love  me,  and  I  petted  and 
plagued  her  into  loving  me,  because  I  was  idle  and  had  the 
opportunity  ;  and  then  I  had  nothing  better  to  tell  her  than  that 
I  was  only  in  jest,  —  I  could  not  marry  her,  fori  was  engaged  to 
another  woman.  She  would  not  believe  it.  That  sounded  to 
her  more  like  jest  than  the  other.  And  she  did  not  believe  it  until 
she  saw  me  making  ready  to  go,  and  then,  all  in  a  moment,  I 
suppose  madness  seized  her,  and  she  neither  knew  where  she 
went  nor  what  she  did.  I  fancy  I  can  see  her  now  coming 
tripping  down  the  field  leading  her  little  brother  by  the  hand, 
and  I  fancy  I  can  see  the  saucy  laugh  she  gave  me  over  her 
shoulder  as  I  asked  her  if  she  any  ripe  cherries  to  sell.  She 
looked  the  very  mischief  with  those  pretty  eyes,  and  I  was  taken 
rather  a  back  when  she  said,  "I  know  you,  Jemmy  Lawrence." 
That  was  the  beginning  of  it.  Little  Honor  and  her  mother 
lived  next  door  to  mine,  and  she  had  not  forgotten  me  though  I 
had  been  full  seven  years  away.  I  did  not  know  her,  the  gypsy, 
but  I  must  needs  go  in  and  see  her  that  evening;  and  so  we  went 
on  until  I  asked  her  if  she  remembered  when  we  went  to  dame- 
school  together,  and  when  she  promised  to  be  my  little  wife  ? 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT. 


311 


If  she  remembered!  Of  course  she  did,  even'  word  of  it,  and 
more  ;  and  she  was  so  pretty,  and  the  lanes  in  the  summer  were 
so  pleasant  that  sometimes  my  fancy  did  play  Anne  Dalton  false, 
and  I  believed  I  should  like  Honor  better ;  and  I  said  more 
than  I  meant,  and  she  took  it  all  in   the  grand,  serious  manner. 

I  was  not  much  to  blame.  I  would  not  have  injured  her  for 
the  world  ;  she  was  as  good  a  little  soul  as  ever  lived,  hove 
and  jealousy,  as  passions,  seem  to  rind  their  strongholds  under 
thatch.  If  Phillis,  the  milkmaid,  is  disappointed,  she  drowns 
herself  in  the  mill-pool ;  if  Lady  Clara  gets  a  cross  of  the 
heart,  she  indites  a  lachrymose  sonnet,  and  marries  a  gouty 
peer ;  if  Colin's  sweetheart  smiles  on  Lubin,  Colin  loads  his 
gnu  and  shoots  them  both  ;  if  Sir  Harry's  fair  flouts  him,  lie 
whistles  her  down  the  wind,  and  goes  a  wooing  elsewhere. 
Had  little  Honor  been  a  fine  lady  she  would  be  living  still.  O 
the  pretty,  demure  lips,  and  the  shy  glances,  and  the  rosy 
blushes!  When  I  saw  Anne  Dalton  to-day  I  could  not  help 
comparing  her  frigid  gentility  with  poor  Honor.  Anne  loves 
herself  better  than  she  will  ever  love  any  man  alive.  But  then 
I  know  she  is  the  kind  of  wife  to  help  a  man  up  in  the  world, 
and  that  is  the  kind  of  wife  for  me. 

Honor  Livingston  lying  on  her  little  bed,  and  her  blind 
mother  feeling  her  cold,  dead  face !  I  wish  I  had  never  seen 
it.  I  would  have  given  the  world  to  keep  away,  but  something 
compelled  me  to  go  in  .and  look  at  her  ;  and  I  did  feel  then  as 
if  I  had  killed  her.  Last  night  she  was  a  shadowy  essence  of 
this  drowned  Ophelia  and  of  her  living  self.  She  was  like,  yet 
unlike  ;  but  1  knew  it  was  Honor  ;  and  I  suppose,  if  she  has 
her  will,  wherever  her  restless  spirit  may  be  condemned  to  bide 
between  whiles, — on  the  10th  of  August  she  will  always  come 
back  to  me,  and  haunt  me  until  1  go  to  her. 

Hastings,  August  11,  1S30. 

Again  !  I  had  forgotten  the  day, — forgotten  everything  about 
that  wretched  business  of  poor  Honor  Livingston  when  last 
night  I  saw  her. 

Anne  and  I  were  sitting  together  out  in  the  veranda,  talking 
of  all  sorts  of  commonplace  things, — our  neighbours'  affairs, 
money,  this,  that,  and  the  other, — the  sea  was  beautiful,  and  1 
was  on  the  point  of  proposing  a  row  by  moonlight,  when  Anne 
said,  "  How  lovely  the  evenings  are,  James,  in  this  place  !  Look 
at  the  sky  over  the  down,  how  clear  it  is  !  "  Turning  my  head, 
I   saw  Honor  standing  on  the  grass  only  a  few  paces  off,  her 


312 


A  MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 


shadowy  shape  quite  distinct  against  the  reds  and  purples  of  the 
clouds. 

Anne  clutched  my  hand  with  a  sudden  cry,  for  she  was  look- 
ing at  my  face  all  the  time,  and  asked  me  passionately  what  I 
saw.  With  that  Honor  was  gone,  and,  passing  my  hand  over 
my  eyes,  I  put  my  wife  otf  with  an  excuse  about  a  spasm  at 
my  heart.  And,  indeed,  it  was  no  lie  to  say  so,  for  this  visita- 
tion gave  me  a  terrible  shock. 

Anne  insisted  on  my  seeing  the  doctor.  "  It  must  be  some- 
thing dreadful,  if  not  dangerous,  that  could  make  you  look  in 
♦hat  way;  you  had  an  awful  face,  James,  for  a  moment." 

I  begged  her  not  to  talk  about  it,  assured  her  that  it  was  a 
thing  of  very  rare  occurrence  with  me,  and  that  there  was  no 
cure  for  it.  But  this  did  not  pacify  her,  and  this  morning  no 
peace  could  be  had  until  Dr.  Hutchinson  was  sent  for  and  she 
had  given  the  old  gentleman  her  own  account  of  me.  He  said 
he  would  talk  to  me  by  and  by.  And  when  he  got  me  by  my- 
self, I  cannot  tell  how  it  was,  but  he  absolutely  contrived  to 
worm  the  facts  out  of  me,  and  I  was  fool  enough  to  let  him  do 
it.  He  looked  at  me  very  oddly,  with  a  sort  of  suspicious  scru^ 
tiny  in  his  eye  ;  but  I  understood  him,  and  said,  laughing,  "  No, 
doctor,  no,  there  is  nothing  wrong  here,"  tapping  my  forehead 
as  I  spoke. 

"  I  should  say  not,  except  this  fancy  for  seeing  ghosts," 
replied  he,  dryly.  But  I  perceived,  all  the  time  that  he  was 
with  me,  that  I  was  the  object  of  a  furtive  and  carefully  dissem- 
bled observation,  which  was  excessively  trying.  1  could  with 
difficulty  keep  my  temper  under  it,  and  I  believe  he  saw  the 
struggle. 

I  fancy  he  wanted  to  have  some  talk  with  Anne  by  herself, 
but  I  prevented  that  by  never  losing  sight  of  him  until  he  was 
safely  off  the  premises.  If  he  proposed  a  private  interview 
while  I  was  out  alone,  I  prevented  that,  too,  by  immediately 
ordering  Anne  to  pack  up  our  traps,  and  coming  back  to  town 
that  very  day.  I  have  not  been  well  since.  1  feel  out  of 
spirits,  bored,  worried,  sick  of  everything.  If  the  feeling  does 
not  leave  me,  in  spite  of  all  Anne  may  say,  I  shall  take  that 
offer  to  go  to  South  America,  and  start  by  the  next  packet.  I 
should  like  to  see  Dr.  Hutchinson's  face  when  he  calls  at  our 
lodgings  to  visit  his  patient  and  finds  the  bird  flown. 

London,  August  20,  1S30. 

This  wretched  state  of  things  does  not  cease.  One  day  I 
feel  in  full,  firm,  clear  possession  of  my  soul,  and  the  next,  per- 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT. 


313 


haps,  I  am  hurried  to  and  fro  with  the  most  tormenting  fancies. 
I  see  shadows  of  Honor  wherever  I  turn,  and  she  is  no  longer 
motionless  as  before,  but  beckons  me  with  her  hand  until  I 
tremble  in  every  limb.  My  heart  is  sick  almost  to  death.  For 
three  days  now  I  have  had  no  rest.  I  cannot  sleep  at  nights 
for  hideous  dreams  ;  and  Anne  watches  me  stealthily,  I  see, 
and  never  remains  with  me  longer  than  she  can  help.  I  can 
perceive  that  she  is  afraid  of  me,  and  that  she  suspects  some- 
thing, without  knowing  what.  To-day  she  must  needs  suggest 
my  seeing  a  doctor  here,  and  when  I  replied  I  was  going  to 
South  America,  she  told  me  that  I  was  not  fit  for  it,  in  such  a 
contemptuous  tone  of  provocation  that  I  lifted  my  hand  and 
struck  her.  Then  she  quailed,  and  while  shrinking  under  my 
eyes,  she  said,  "James  your  conduct  is  that  of  a  madman  !  " 
Since  then  I  know  she  sits  with  me  in  silent  terror,  longing  to 
escape  and  find  some  one  to  listen  to  her  grievances.  But  I 
shall  keep  strict  ward  that  she  does  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  will 
not  have  my  foes  of  my  own  household,  and  no  spying  relatives 
shall  come  between  us  to  put  asunder  those  whom  God  has 
joined  together. 

Acapulco,  March  17,  1831. 

It  is  six  months  since  I  wrote  the  above.  In  the  interval  I 
have  been  miserably  ill,  grieviously  tormented  both  in  mind 
and  body  ;  but  now  that  I  have  got  safely  away  from  them  all, 
with  the  Atlantic  between  myself  and  my  wicked  wife,  whose 
conduct  toward  me  I  will  never  forgive,  I  can  collect  my  powers 
of  mind,  and  bend  them  again  to  my  work.  Burton  came  out 
in  the  same  ship  with  me  to  engage  in  the  same  enterprise. 
After  a  few  days'  rest,  we  intend  setting  out  on  our  journey  to 
the  mining  districts,  where  we  are  to  act.  My  head  feels  per- 
fectly light  and  clear,  all  my  impressions  are  distinct  and  vivid 
again,  and  I  can  get  through  a  hard  day's  close  study  without 
inconvenience.  There  was  nothing  but  my  miserable  liver  to 
blame,  and  when  that  was  set  right  all  my  imaginary  phantoms 
disappeared.  Umpleby  said  it  had  been  coming  gradually  for 
months,  and  that  there  was  nothing  at  all  extraordinary  in  my 
delusions  ;  my  diseased  state  was  one  always  so  attended,  more 
or  less.  And  Anne,  in  her  cowardly  malignity,  would  have 
consigned  me  for  life  to  a  lunatic  asylum.  It  was  Umpleby 
who  saved  me,  and  I  have  put  his  name  down  in  my  will  for  a 
handsome  remembrance.  As  for  Anne,  she  has  chosen  to  re- 
turn to  her  family,  and  they  may  keep  her  ;  she  will  never  see 
my  face  again,  of  my  free  will,  as  long  as  I  live. 
14 


314  A    MESSAGE   FROM    THE   SEA. 

The  picturcsqueness  of  this  place  is  not  noteworthy  in  any 
high  degree.  The  harbour  is  enclosed  by  a  chain  of  mountains, 
and  has  two  entrances  formed  by  the  island  of  Roquetta  ;  the 
castle  of  St.  Diego  commands  the  town  and  the  bay,  standing 
on  a  spur  of  the  hills.  Burton  has  been  to  and  fro  on  his  ram- 
bles ever  since  we  landed  ;  but  I  find  the  heat  too  great  for 
much  exertion,  and  when  we  begin  our  journey  into  the  inte- 
rior I  have  need  of  all  my  forces  ;  therefore,  better  husband 
them  now. 

Mexico,  April  24,  1831. 

We  are  better  off  here  than  we  anticipated.  Burton  has 
found  an  old  fellow-pupil  engaged  as  engineering  tutor  in  the 
School  of  Mines,  and  there  are  civilized  amusements  which  we 
neither  of  us  had  any  hope  of  finding.  The  city  is  full  of  ancient 
relics,  and  Burton  is  on  foot  exploring,  day  by  day.  I  prefer 
the  living  interests  of  this  strange  place,  and  sometimes  early  in 
the  morning  I  betake  myself  to  the  market-place,  and  watch 
the  Indians  dress  their  stalls.  No  matter  what  they  sell  they 
decorate  their  shops  with  fresh  herbs  and  flowers  until  they  are 
sheltered  under  a  bower  of  verdure.  They  display  their  fruit  in 
open  basket-work,  laying  the  pears  and  raisins  below,  and 
covering  them  above  with  odorous  flowers.  An  artist  might 
make  a  pretty  picture  here  when  the  Indians  arrive  at  sunrise 
in  their  boats  loaded  with  the  produce  of  their  floating  gardens. 
Next  week  Burton,  his  friend,  and  I  are  to  set  out  for  the  mines 
of  Moran  and  Real  del  Monte.  1  should  have  preferred  to  de- 
lay our  journey  a  while  longer  for  reasons  of  my  own,  but  Bur- 
ton presses,  and  feels  we  have  already  delayed  longer  than 
enough. 

Moran,  July  4,  1S31. 

I  am  sick  of  this  place,  but  our  business  here  is  now  on  the 
verge  of  completion,  and  in  a  few  days  we  start  on  our  expedi- 
tion to  the  mines  of  Guanamato.  The  director,  Burton,  and 
myself  are  all  of  opinion  that  immense  advantages  are  to  be 
gained  by  improving  the  working  of  the  mines,  which  is,  at 
present,  in  a  very  defective  condition.  There  is  great  mortality 
among  the  Indians  who  are  the  beasts  of  burden  of  the  mines  ; 
they  carry  on  their  backs  loads  of  metal  of  from  two  hundred 
and  fifty  to  three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  at  a  time,  ascending 
and  descending  thousands  of  steps,  in  files  which  contain  old 
men  of  seventy  and  mere  children.  I  have  not  been  very  well 
here,  having   had  some  return  of  old   symptoms,  but   under 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT. 


315 


proper  treatment  they  dispersed  ;  however,  I  shall  be  thankful 
to  be  on  the  move  again. 

Pascuaro,  August  11,  1 83 1. 

Can  any  man  evade  his  thoughts,  impalpable  curses  sitting 
on  his  heart,  mocking  like  fiends?  I  cannot  evade  mine.  All 
yesterday  I  was  haunted  by  a  terrible  anxiety  and  dread.  At 
every  turn,  at  every  moment,  I  expected  to  see  Honor  Living- 
ston appear  before  me,  but  I  did  not  see  her.  The  day  and 
the  night  passed,  and  I  was  freed  from  that  great  horror, — how 
great  I  had  not  realized,  until  its  hour  had  gone  and  left  no 
trace.  This  morning  I  am  myself  again  ;  my  spirits  revive  ;  I 
have  escaped  my  enemy,  and  have  proved  that  it  was,  indeed, 
but  a  subtle  emanation  of  my  own  diseased  body  and  mind. 
But  these  thoughts,  these  troublesome,  persistent  thoughts,  how 
combat  them  ?  Burton,  very  observant  of  me  at  all  times,  was 
yesterday  watchful  as  an  inquisitor  ;  he  said  he  hoped  I  was 
not  going  to  have  the  frightful  fever  which  is  prevailing  here, 
but  I  know  he  meant  something  else.  1  have  not  a  doubt  now 
that  Anne  and  all  that  confederacy  warned  him  before  we  set 
sail  to  beware  of  me,  for  I  had  been  mad  ;  that  is  the  cursed  lie 
they  set  abroad.  Mad  !  All  the  world's  mad,  or  on  the  way 
to  it ! 

But  if  Honor  had  come  back  to  me  yesterday,  we  might  have 
gone  and  have  looked  down  together  into  hell,  through  the 
ovens  of  Jorulla.  The  missionaries  cursed  this  frightful  place 
generations  since ;  and  it  is  accursed  if  ever  land  was.  Noth- 
ing more  awful  than  this  desolate,  burning  waste,  which  the 
seas  could  not  quench.  When  I  remember  it  and  all  I  under- 
went yesterday,  the  confusion  and  horror  return  upon  me  again, 
and  my  brain  swerves  like  the  brain  of  a  drunken  man.  I  will 
write  no  more, — sufficient  to  record  that  the  appointed  time 
came  and  went,  and  Honor  Livingston  did  not  keep  her  word 
with  me. 

New  Orleans,  February,  1832. 

I  left  Burton  still  in  Mexico,  and  came  here  alone.  His 
care  and  considerateness  were  more  than  I  could  put  up  with, 
and  after  two  or  three  ineffectual  remonstrances,  we  came  to  a 
violent  rupture,  and  I  determined  to  throw  up  my  engagement, 
rather  than  carry  it  out  in  conjunction  with  such  a  man. 
There  was  no  avoiding  the  quarrel.  Was  I  to  be  tutored  day 
by  day,  and  the  wine-bottle  removed  out  of  my  reach  ?  He 
dared  to  tell  me  that  when  I  was  cool,  clear, — myself,  in  short, 


316  A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE   SEA. 

— there  was  no  man  my  master  in  onr  profession  ;  but  that 
when  I  had  drunk  freely  I  was  unmanageable  as  a  lunatic  !  A 
lie,  of  course  ;  but  unscrupulous  persecutors  are  difficult  tc 
circumvent.  Anne's  malice  pursues  me  even  here.  When  I 
was  out  yesterday,  my  footsteps  were  dogged  pertinaciously 
wherever  1  went,  and  perhaps  an  account  of  my  doings  will 
precede  me  home  j  but  if  they  do,  I  defy  them  all  to  do  l heir 
worst. 

Ashendell,  August  9,  1839. 

This  old  book  turned  up  to  day,  among  some  traps  that  have 
lain  by  in  London  all  the  years  that  I  have  spent,  first  in 
Spain  and  afterwards  in  Russia.  What  fool's  talk  it  is  !  but  I 
suppose  it  was  true  at  the  time.  I  know  I  was  in  a  wretched 
condition  while  I  was  in  Mexico  and  in  the  States,  but  I  have 
been  sane  enough  and  sound  enough  ever  since  the  illness  I 
had  at  Baltimore.  To  prove  how  little  hold  on  me  my  ancient 
honors  have  retained,  1  find  myself  at  Ashendell  in  the  very 
season  of  the  year  when  Honor  Livingston  destroyed  herself, — • 
to-morrow  is  the  anniversary  of  her  death.  So  I  take  my 
enemy  by  the  throat,  and  crush  him  !  These  fantastical  mala- 
dies will  not  stand  against  a  determined  will.  At  Moscow,  at 
Cherson,  at  Archangel,  the  10th  of  August  has  come  and  gone, 
unmarked.  Honor  failed  of  her  threat  everywhere  except  at 
Lisbon.  I  saw  her  there  twice,  just  before  we  sailed.  I  saw 
her,  when  we  were  off  that  coast  where  we  so  narrowly  escaped 
wreck,  rising  and  falling  upon  the  waves.  I  saw  her  in  Lon- 
don that  day  I  appointed  to  see  Anne.  But  I  know  what  it 
means  ;  it  means  that  1  must  put  myself  in  Umpleby's  hands 
for  a  few  weeks,  and  that  the  shadows  will  forthwith  vanish. 
Shadows  they  are,  out  of  my  own  brain,  and  they  take  the 
shape  of  Honor  because  I  have  let  her  become  a  fixed  idea  in 
my  mind.  Yet  it  is  very  strange  that  the  last  time  she  ap- 
peared to  me  I  heard  her  speak.  I  fancied  she  said  that  it  was 
Almost  time  ;  and  then  louder,  "  I'll  haunt  you,  James,  until 
you  come  to  the  Ashenfall,  where  I  am  going  now  !  "  And 
with  that  she  vanished.  Fancy  plays  strange  tricks  with  us, 
and  makes  cowards  of  us  almost  as  cleverly  as  conscience. 

August  10. 

1  have  had  a  very  unpleasant  impression  on  me  all  day.  I 
wish  1  had  resisted  Linchley's  persuasions  more  steadily.  I 
ought  never  to  have  come  down  here  again.     The  excitement 


THE    CI  UB-NIGHT. 


317 


of  its  miserable  recollections  is  too  much  for  me.  The  man  at 
the  inn  called  me  by  my  name  this  morning,  and  said  he  uncol- 
lected me, — looking  up  toward  the  church  as  he  spoke.  Damn 
him  !  All  day  I  seem  to  have  been  acting  against  my  will. 
What  should  possess  me  to  go  there  this  afternoon?  Round 
about  among  the  graves,  until  1  came  to  the  grassy  hillock  on 
the  north  side  of  the  church  where  they  buried  Honor  that 
night  without  a  prayer.  I  sat  down  on  the  low  wall,  and 
looked  across  to  the  hills  beyond  the  river,  listening  to  the 
monotonous  sing-song  of  the  fill.  I  would  give  all  I  possess 
to-day  to  be  able  to  tread  back  or  to  untread  a  score  of  the 
years  of  my  life.  It  seems  such  a  blank  ;  of  all  I  planned  and 
schemed  how  little  have  I  accomplished?  Watching  by 
Honor's  grave,  I  fell  to  thinking  of  her.  What  had  either  of  us 
done  that  we  should  be  so  wretched  ?  Is  it  part  and  parcel 
of  the  great  injustice  of  life  that  some  must  suffer  so  signally 
while  others  escape  ?  The  coarse  grass  is  never  cut  at  the 
north  side  of  the  church,  nettles  and  brambles  grow  about  the 
grave.  Honor  was  mad,  poor  soul  !  they  might  have  given  her 
a  prayer  for  rest,  if  they  were  forbidden  to  believe  she  died 
in  hope.  I  prayed  for  her  to-day, — more  need,  perhaps,  to 
pray  for  myself, — and  then  there  came  a  crazed  whirl  in  my 
brain,  and  I  set  off  to  find  Linchley.  As  I  came  down  neat 
the  water,  the  fall  sounded  very  tumultuous  ;  it  was  sultry,  hot, 
and  I  should  have  liked  to  turn  down  by  the  river,  but  I  said, 
"  No,  it  is  the  10th  of  August  !  If  I  am  to  meet  Honor  Living- 
ston to-day,  I'll  not  meet  her  byAshenfall  !"  So  I  came  home 
to  our  lodgings,  to  find  that  Linchley  had  gone  over  to  Warfe, 
and  had  left  a  message  that  he  should  not  return  until  to-mor- 
row. I  have  the  night  before  me  alone  ;  it  is  not  like  an 
English  night  at  all ;  it  is  like  the  nights  1  remember  at  Cadiz, 
which  always  heralded  a  tremendous  storm.  And  I  think  we 
shall  have  a  storm  here,  too,  before  the  morning. 


Those  were  the  last  words  James  Lawrence  ever  wrote,  gen- 
tlemen. Further  than  this  no  man  can  speak  of  his  death  ;  it 
is  plain  to  me  that  one  of  his  mad  fits  was  coming  on  before  he 
left  Lisbon  ;  that  it  grew  and  increased  until  he  came  here  ; 
and  that  here  it  reached  its  climax,  and  urged  him  to  his  death. 
I  believe  in  the  ghosts  James  Lawrence  saw,  as  I  believe  in  the 
haunting  power  of  any  great  misdeed  that  has  driven  a  fellow- 
creature  into  deadly  sin. 


3i8 


A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 


When  David  Polreath  had  finished,  the  chairman  gave  the 
teetotum  such  a  swift  and  sudden  twirl,  to  be  beforehand  with 
any  interruption,  that  it  twirled  among  all  the  glasses,  and  into 
all  corners  of  the  table,  and  finally  Hew  off  the  table  and  lodged 
in  Captain  Jorgan's  waistcoat. 

"A  kind  of  a  judgment!"  said  the  captain,  taking  it  out. 
'■  What's  to  be  done  now  ?  I  know  no  story,  except  Down- 
Easters,  and  they  didn't  happen  to  myself,  or  anyone  of  my  ac- 
quaintance, and  you  couldn't  enjoy  'em  without  going  out  of 
your  minds  first.  And  perhaps  the  company  ain't  prepared  to 
do  that  ?  " 

The  chairman  interposed  by  rising  and  declaring  it  to  be  his 
perroud  perriviiege  to  stop  preliminary  observations. 

"  Wa'al,"  said  the  captain,  "  1  defer  to  the  President,  which 
ain't  at  all  what  they  do  in  my  country,  where  they  lay  into 
him,  head,  limbs,  and  body."  Here  he  slapped  his  leg.  "But 
I  beg  to  ask  a  preliminary  question.  Colonel  Polreath  has 
read  from  a  diary.     Might  I  read  from  a  pipe-light  ?  " 

The  chairman  requested  explanation. 

"The  history  of  the  pipe-light,"  said  the  captain,  "is  just 
this  :  that  it's  verses,  and  was  made  on  the  voyage  home  by  a 
passenger  I  brought  over.  And  he  was  a  quiet  crittur  of  a 
middle-aged  man,  with  a  pleasant  countenance.  And  he  wrote 
it  on  the  head  of  a  cask.  And  he  was  a  most  etarnal  time 
about  it,  tew.  And  he  blotted  it  as  if  he  had  wrote  it  in  a  con- 
tinual squall  of  ink.  And  then  he  took  an  indigestion,  and 
I  physicked  him,  for  want  of  a  better  doctor.  And  then  to 
show  his  liking  for  me  he  copied  it  out  fair,  and  gave  it  to  me 
for  a  pipe-light.  And  it  ain't  been  lighted  yet,  and  that's  a 
fact." 

"  Let  it  be  read,"  said  the  chairman. 

"With  thanks  to  Colonel  Polreath  for  setting  the  example," 
pursued  the  captain,  "  and  with  apologies  to  the  Honourable 
A.  Parvis  and  the  whole  of  the  present  company  for  this  passen- 
ger's having  expressed  his  mind  in  verses,— which  he  may  have 
done  along  of  bein'  sea-sick,  and  he  was  very, — the  pipe-light, 
unrolled,  comes  to  this  : 

We  sit  by  the  fire  so  wide  and  red, 

With  the  dance  of  the  young  within, 
Who  have  yet  small  learning  of  cold  and  dread, 

And  of  sorrow  no  more  than  of  sin  ; 
Nor  dream. of  a  night  on  a  sleepless  bed 
Of  waves  with  their  terrible  wrecks  o'erspread. 


THE    CL  VB-NIGIir. 

We  sit  round  the  hearth  as  red  as  gold, 

And  the  legends  beloved  we  tell, 
How  battles  were  won  by  the  nobles  bold, 

Where  hamlets  of  villains  fell  : 
And  we  praise  our  God,  while  we  cut  the  bread, 
And  share  the  wine  round,  for  our  heroes  dead. 

And  we  talk  of  the  Kings,  those  strong,  proud  men, 

Who  ravaged,  confessed,  and  died  ; 
And  of  churls  who  rabbled  them  oft  and  again, 

Perchance  with  a  kindred  pride, — 
Though  the  Kings  built  churches  to  pierce  the  sky, 
And  the  rabbling  churls  in  the  cross-road  lie. 

Yet  'twixt  the  despot  and  slave  half- free, 

Old  Truth  may  have  message  clear  ; 
Since  the  hard  black  yew  and  the  lithe  young  tree 

Belong  to  an  age— and  a  year, 
And  though  distant  in  might  and  in  leaf  they  be, 

In  right  of  the  woods  they  are  near. 

And  old  Truth's  message,  perchance,  may  be  : 
"  Beliez>e  in  thy  kind,  whole' er  the  degree, 
Be  it  King  on  his  throne  or  serf  on  his  knee. 
While  our  Lord  showers  light,  in  his  bounty  free, 
On  the  rock  and  the  vale, — on  the  sand  and  the  sea.'" 

They  are  singing  within,  with  their  voices  dear, 

To  the  tunes  which  are  dear  as  well ; 
And  we  sit  and  dream  while  the  words  we  hear, 

Having  tale  of  our  own  to  tell, — 
Of  a  far  midnight  on  the  terrible  sea, 
Which  comes  back  on  the  tune  of  their  blithe  old  glee. 

As  old  as  the  hills,  and  as  old  as  the  sky, — 

As  the  King  on  his  throne,  —  as  the  serf  on  his  knee, 
A  song  wherein  rich  can  with  poor  agree, 
With  its  chorus  to  make  t'lem  laugh  or  cry, — 
Which  the  young  are  singing,  with  no  thought  nigh, 
Of  a  night  on  a  terrible  sea  : 

"  I  care  for  nobody  ;  no,  not  I, 
Since  nobody  cares  for  me." 


319 


The  storm  had  its  will.     There  was  wreck, — there  was  flight 
O'er  an  ocean  of  Alps,  through  the  pitch-black  night, 
When  a  good  ship  sank,  and  a  few  got  free, 
To  cope  in  their  boat  with  the  terrible  sea. 

And  when  the  day  broke,  there  was  blood  on  the  sea, 

From  the  wild,  hot  eye  of  the  sun  outshed, 

For  the  heaven  was  aflame  as  with  fire  from  Hell, 

And  a  scorching  balm  on  the  waters  fell, 
As  if  ruin  had  won,  and  with  fiendish  glee, 

Sailed  forth  in  his  rrallev  to  number  the  dead. 


320  A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

And  they  rowed  their  boat  o'er  the  terrible  sea, 
As  mute  as  a  crew  made  of  ghosts  might  be  ; 
For  the  best  in  his  heart  had  not  manhood  to  say, 
That  the  land  was  five  hundred  miles  away. 

A  day  and  a  week.  -  There  was  bread  for  one  man  ; 

The  water  was  dry.     And  on  this,  the  few 
Who  were  rowing  their  boat  o'er  the  terrible  sea, 
To  murmur,  to  curse,  and  to  crave  began. 

And  how  't  was  agreed  on,  no  one  knew, 
But  the  feeble  and  famished,  and  scorched  by  the  sun 
With  his  pitiless  eye,  drew  lots  to  agree, 
What  their  hideous  morrow  of  meat  must  be. 


O  then  were  the  faces  frightful  to  read, 
Of  ravening  hope,  and  of  cowardly  pride 
That  lies  to  the  last,  its  sharp  terror  to  hide  ; 

And  a  stillness  as  though  'twere  some  game  of  the  Dead. 
While  they  waited  the  number  their  lot  to  decide, — 

There  were  nine  in  that  boat  on  the  terrible  sea, 

And  he  who  drew  .nine  was  the  victim  to  be. 

You  may  think  what  a  ghastly  shiver  there  ran, 
From  mate  to  his  mate,  as  the  doom  began. 

Six — had  a  wife  with  a  wild-rose  cheek  ; 

Two — a  brave  boy,  not  a  year  yet  old  ; 
Eight — his  last  sister,  lame  and  weak, 

Who  quivered  with  palsy  more  than  with  cold. 

You  may  think  what  a  breath  the  respited  drew, 
And  how  wildly  still  sat  the  rest  of  the  crew; 
How  the  voice  as  it  called  spoke  hoarser  and  slower  ; 
The  number  it  next  dared  to  speak  was — FOUR. 

'T  was  the  rude  black  man,  who  had  handled  an  oar 
The  best,  on  that  terrible  sea,  of  the  few. 

And  ugly  and  grim  in  the  sunshine  glare 

Were  his  thick  parched  lips,  and  his  dull,  small  eyes, 

And  the  tangled  fleece  of  his  rusty  hair  ; — 

Ere  the  next  of  the  breathless  the  death-lot  drew, 

His  shout  like  a  sword  pierced  the  silence  through. 

Let  the  play  end  with  your  number  Four. 

What  need  to  draw  ?     Live  along  you  few 
Who  have  hopes  to  save  and  have  wives  to  cry 

O'er  the  cradles  of  children  free  ! 
What  matter  if  folk  without  home  should  die, 
And  be  eaten  by  land  or  sea  ? 
"  I  care  for  nobody  ;  no,  not  I, 
Since  nobody  cares  for  me." 


THE    CLVB-NICIIT. 

And  with  that,  a  knife — and  a  heart  struck  thuough- 
And  the  warm  red  blood,  and  the  coabblack  clay. 

And  the  famine  withdrawn  from  among  the  few, 
By  their  horrible  meal  for  another  day  ! 


321 


So  the  eight,  thus  fed,  came  at  last  to  land, 

And  the  tale  of  their  shipmate  told, 
As  of  water  found  in  the  burning  sand, 
Which  braves  not  the  thirsty,  cold. 
.  But  the  love  of  the  listener,  safe  and  free, 

Goes  forth  to  that  slave  on  that  terrible  sea. 

For  fancies  from  hearth  and  from  home  will  stray, 

Though  within  are  the  dance  and  the  song  ; 
And  a  grave  tale  told,  if  the  tune  be  gay, 

Says  little  to  scare  the  young, 
While  they  sing,  with  their  voices  clear  as  can  be, 
Having  called  once  more  for  the  blithe  old  glee, — 
"  I  care  for  nobody  ;  no,  not  I, 
Since  nobody  cares  for  me." 

But  the  careless  tune,  it  saith  to  the  old, 

Who  sit  by  the  hearth  as  red  as  gold, 

When  they  think  of  their  tale  of  the  terrible  sea; 

"  Believe  in  thy  kind  10 hate1  er  the  degree, 

Be  it  King  on  his  throne,  or  serf  on  his  knee, 

While  Our  Lord  showers  good  from  his  bounty  free, 

Over  storm,  over  calm,  over  land,  over  sea.''1 

Mr.  Parvis  bad  so  greatly  disquieted  the  minds  of  the  Gen- 
tlemen King  Arthurs  for  some  minutes  by  snoring,  with  strong 
symptoms  of  apoplexy, — which,  in  a  mild  form,  was  his  normal 
state  of  health, — that  it  was  now  deemed  expedient  to  wake 
him  and  entreat  him  to  allow  himself  to  be  escorted  home. 
Mr.  Parvis's  reply  to  this  friendly  suggestion  could  not  be 
placed  on  record  without  the  aid  of  several  clashes,  and  is  there- 
fore omitted.  It  was  conceived  in  a  spirit  of  the  profoundest 
irritation,  and  executed  with  vehemence,  contempt,  scorn,  and 
disgust.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  let  the  excellent  gen- 
tleman alone,  and  he  fell,  without  loss  of  time,  into  a  defiant 
slumber. 

The  teetotum  being  twirled  again,  so  buzzed  and  bowed  in 
the  direction  of  the  young  fisherman,  that  Captain  Jorgan  ad- 
vised him  to  be  bright,  and  prepare  for  the  worst.  But  it 
started  off  at  a  tangent,  late  in  its  career,  and  fell  before  a 
well-looking,  bearded  man  (one  who  made  working  drawings 
for  machinery,  the  captain  was  informed  by  his  next  neighbour), 
Vho  promptly  took  it  up,  like  a  challenger's  glove. 

"Oswald  Penrewen  !"  said  the  chairman. 
14* 


'^''2 


A    MESSAGE   FROM   THE   SEA. 


"  Here's  Unchris'en  at  last  !  "  the  captain  whispered  Alfred 
Raybrock.     "Unchris'en  goes  ahead  right  smart ;  don't  he?" 
He  did,  without  one  introductory  word. 

Mine  is  my  brother's  Ghost  Story.  It  happened  to  my 
brother  about  thirty  years  ago,  while  he  was  wandering,  sketch 
book  in  hand,  among  the  High  Alps,  picking  up  subjects  for  an 
illustrated  work  on  Switzerland.  Having  entered  the  Oberland 
by  the  Brunig  Pass,  and  filled  his  portfolio  with  what  he  used 
to  call  "bits"  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Meyringen,  he  went 
over  the  Great  Scheideck  to  Grindlewald,  where  he  arrived  one 
dusky  September  evening,  about  three  quarters  of  an  hour 
after  sunset.  There  had  been  a  fair  that  day,  and  the  place 
was  crowded.  In  the  best  inn  there  was  not  an  inch  of  space 
to  spare — there  were  only  two  inns  at  Grindlewald  thirty  years 
ago — so  my  brother  went  to  one  at  the  end  of  the  covered 
bridge  next  the  church,  and  there,  with  some  difficulty,  obtained 
the  promise  of  a  pile  of  rugs  and  a  mattress,  in  a  room  which 
was  already  occupied  by  three  other  travellers. 

The  Adler  was  a  primitive  hostelry,  half  farm,  half  inn,  with 
great  rambling  galleries  outside,  and  a  huge  general  room,  like 
a  barn.  At  the  upper  end  of  this  room  stood  long  stoves,  like 
metal  counters,  laden  with  steaming  pans,  and  glowing  under- 
neath like  furnaces.  At  the  lower  end  smoking,  supping,  and 
chatting,  were  congregated  some  thirty  or  forty  guests,  chiefly 
mountaineers,  char-drivers,  and  guides.  Among  these  my 
brother  took  his  seat,  and  was  served,  like  the  rest,  with  a 
bowl  of  soup,  a  platter  of  beef,  a  flagon  of  country  wine,  and  a 
loaf  made  of  Indian  corn.  Presently  a  huge  St.  Bernard  dog 
came  and  laid  his  nose  upon  my  brother's  arm.  In  the  mean 
time  he  fell  into  conversation  with  two  Italian  youths,  bronzed 
and  dark-eyed,  near  whom  he  happened  to  be  seated.  They 
were  Florentines.  Their  names,  they  told  him,  were  Stefano  and 
Battisto.  They  had  been  travelling  for  some  months  on  com- 
mission, selling  cameos,  mosaics,  sulphur-casts,  and  the  like  pretty 
Italian  trifles,  and  were  now  on  their  way  to  Interlaken  and 
Geneva.  Weary  of  the  cold  North,  they  longed,  like  chil- 
dren, for  the  moment  which  should  take  them  back  to  their 
own  blue  hills  and  grey-green  olives  :  to  their  workshop  On 
the  Ponte  Vecchio,  and  their  home  down   by  the  Arno. 

It  was  quite  a  relief  to  my  brother,  on  going  up  to  bed, 
to  find  that  these  youths  were  to  be  two  of  his  fellow-lodgers. 
The  third  was  already  there,  and  sound  asleep,  with  his  face 
to  the  wall.     They  scarcely  looked  at  this  third.     They  were 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT. 


323 


all  tired,  a/id  all  anxious  to  rise  at  daybreak,  having  agreed  to 
walk  together  over  the  Wengern  Alp  as  far  as  Lauterbrunnen. 
So  my  brother  and  the  two  youths  exchanged  a  brief  good- 
night, and,  before  many  minutes,  were  all  as  far  away  in  the 
land  of  dreams  as  their  unknown  companion. 

My  brother  slept  profoundly,— so  profoundly  that,  being 
roused  in  the  morning  by  a  clamour  of  merry  voices,  he  sat  up 
dreamily  in  his  rugs,  and  wondered  where  he  was. 

"  Good  day,  Signor,"  cried  Battisto.  "  Here  is  a  fellow- 
traveller  going  the  same  way  as  ourselves." 

"  Christien  Baumann,  native  of  Kandersteg,  musical-box 
maker  by  trade,  stands  five  feet  eleven  in  his  shoes,  and  is 
at  monsieur's  service  to  command,"  said  the  sleeper  of  the 
night  before. 

He  was  a  fine  young  fellow  as  one  would  wish  to  see.  Light 
and  strong,  and  well-proportioned,  with  curling  brown  hair, 
and  bright  honest  eyes  that  seemed  to  dance  at  every  word 
he  uttered. 

"Good  morning,"  said  my  brother.  "You  were  asleep  last 
night  when  we  came  up." 

"Asleep!  I  should  think  so,  after  being  all  day  in  the 
fair,  and  walking  from  Meyringen  the  evening  before.  What  a 
capital  fair  it  was  !  " 

"Capital,  indeed,"  said  Battisto.  "We  sold  cameos  and 
mosaics  yesterday  for  nearly  fifty  francs." 

"  O,  you  sell  cameos  and  mosaics,  you  two  !  Show  me 
your  cameos,  and  I  will  show  you  my  musical  boxes.  I  have 
such  pretty  ones,  with  coloured  views  of  Geneva  and  Chillon 
on  the  lids,  playing  two,  four,  six,  and  even  eight  tunes.  Bah  ! 
I  will  give  you  a  concert  !  " 

And  with  this  he  unstrapped  his  pack,  displayed  his  little 
boxes  on  the  table,  and  wound  them  up  one  after  the  other, 
to  the  delight  of  the  Italians. 

"  I  helped  to  make  them  myself,  every  one,"  said  he,  proudly. 
"  Is  it  not  pretty  music  ?  I  sometimes  set  one  of  them  when 
I  go  to  bed  at  night,  and  fall  asleep  listening  to  it.  I  am 
sure,  then,  to  have  pleasant  dreams !  But  let  us  see  your 
cameos.  Perhaps  1  may  buy  one  for  Marie,  if  they  are  not 
too  dear.  Marie  is  my  sweetheart,  and  we  are  to  be  married 
next  week." 

"  Next  week  !  "  exclaimed  Stefano.  "  That  is  very  soon. 
Battisto  has  a  sweetheart  also,  up  at  Impruneta ;  but  they  will 
have  to  wait  a  long  time  before  they  can  buy  the  ring. 

Battisto  blushed  like  a  girl. 


3^4 


A    MESSAGE   FROM   THE   SEA. 


"  Hush,  brother  !  "  said  he.  "  Show  the  cameos  to  Christien; 
and  give  yonr  tongue  a  holiday  !  " 

But  Christien  was  not  so  to  be  put  off. 

"What  is  her  name?"  said  he.  "Tush!  Battisto,  you 
must  tell  me  her  name  !  Is  she  pretty?  Is  she  dark  or  fair? 
Do  you  often  see  her  when  you  are  at  home?  Is  she  very 
fond  of  you  ?     Is  she  as  fond  of  you  as  Marie  is  of  me  ?  " 

"  Nay,  how  should  I  know  that?"  asked  the  soberer  Battisto. 
"She  loves  me,  and  I  love  her, — that  is  all." 

"  And  her  name  ?  " 

"  Margherita." 

"  A  charming  name  !  And  she  is  herself  as  pretty  as  her 
name,  I'll  engage.     Did  you  say  she  was  fair  ?  " 

"  I  said  nothing  about  it  one  way  or  the  other,"  said  Battisto, 
unlocking  a  green  box  clamped  with  iron,  and  taking  out  tray 
after  tray  of  his  pretty  wares.  "There  !  Those  pictures  all 
inlaid  in  little  bits  are  Roman  mosaics, — the  flowers  on  a 
black  ground  are  Florentine.  The  ground  is  of  hard,  dark 
stone,  and  the  flowers  are  made  of  thin  slices  of  jasper,  onyx, 
carnelian,  and  so  forth.  Those  forget-me-nots,  for  instance, 
are  bits  of  turquoise,  and  that  poppy  is  cut  from  a  piece  of 
coral." 

"  I  like  the  Roman  ones  best,"  said  Christien.  "  What  place 
is  that  with  all  the  arches  ?  " 

"This  is  the  Coliseum,  and  the  one  next  to  it  i?  St.  Peter's. 
But  we  Florentines  care  little  for  the  Roman  work.  It  is  not 
half  so  fine  or  so  valuable  as  ours.  The  Romans  make  their 
mosaics  of  composition." 

"  Composition  or  no,  I  like  the  little  landscapes  best,"  said 
Christien.  "  There  is  a  lovely  one,  with  a  pointed  building,  and 
a  tree,  and  mountains  at  the  back.  How  I  should  like  that 
one  for  Marie  !  " 

"You  may  have  it  for  eight  francs,"  replied  Battisto  ;  "we 
sold  two  of  them  yesterday  for  ten  each.  It  represented  the 
tomb  of  Caius  Cestius,  near  Rome." 

"  A  tomb !  "  echoed  Christien,  considerably  dismayed. 
"  Diable  !     That  would  be  a  dismal  present  to  one's  bride." 

"  She  would  never  guess  that  it  was  a  tomb  if  you  did  not  tell 
her,"  suggested  Stefano. 

Christien  shook  his  head. 

"  That  would  be  next  door  to  deceiving  her,"  said  he. 

"Nay,"  interposed  my  brother,  "the  owner  of  that  tomb 
has  been  dead  these  eighteen  or  nineteen  hundred  years.  One 
almost  forgets  that  he  was  ever  buried  in  it." 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT. 


325 


"  Eighteen  or  nineteen  hundred  years  ?  Tnen  he  was  a 
heathen  1 " 

"  Undoubtedly,  if  by  that  you  mean  that  he  lived  before 
Christ.'' 

Christien's  face  lighted  up  immediately. 

"  Oh,  that  settles  the  question,"  said  he,  pulling  out  his  little 
canvas  purse,  and  paying  his  money  down  at  once.  "  A 
heathen's  tomb  is  as  good  as  no  tomb  at  all.  I'll  have  it  made 
into  a  brooch  for  her,  at  Interlaken.  Tell  me,  Battisto,  what 
shall  you  take  home  to  Italy  for  your  Margherita  ?  " 

Battisto  laughed  and  chinked  his  eight  francs.  "That  de- 
pends on  trade,"  said  he  ;  "  if  we  make  good  profits  between 
this  and  Christmas  I  may  take  her  a  Swiss  muslin  from  Berne ; 
but  we  have  already  been  away  seven  months,  and  we  have 
hardly  made  a  hundred  francs  over  and  above  our  expenses." 

And  with  this  the  talk  turned  upon  general  matters,  and 
the  Florentines  locked  away  their  treasures,  Christien  restrapped 
his  pack,  and  my  brother  and  all  went  down  together,  and 
breakfasted  in  the  open  air  outside  the  inn. 

It  was  a  magnificent  morning  ;  cloudless  and  sunny,  with  a 
cool  breeze  that  rustled  in  the  vine  upon  the  porch  and  flecked 
the  table  with  shifting  shadows  of  green  leaves.  All  around 
and  about  them  stood  the  great  mountains  with  their  blue-white 
glaciers  bristling  down  to  the  verge  of  the  pastures,  and  the 
pine-woods  creeping  darkly  up  their  sides.  To  the  left  the 
Wetteihorn  ;  to  the  right,  the  Eigher  ;  straight  before  them, 
dazzling  and  imperishable,  like  an  obelisk  of  frosted  silver,  the 
Schreckhorn,  or  Peak  of  Terror.  Breakfast  over,  they  bade 
farewell  to  their  hostess,  and,  mountain  staff  in  hand,  took  the 
path  to  the  Wengern  Alp.  Half  in  light,  half  in  shadow,  lay 
the  quiet  valley,  dotted  over  with  farms,  and  traversed  by  a 
torrent  that  rushed,  milk-white,  from  its  prison  in  the  glacier. 
The  three  lads  walked  briskly  in  advance,  their  voices  chiming 
together  every  now  and  then  in  chorus  of  laughter.  Somehow 
my  brother  felt  sad.  He  lingered  behind,  and  plucking  a  little 
red  flower  from  the  bank,  watched  it  hurry  away  with  the  tor- 
rent, like  a  life  on  the  stream  of  time.  Why  was  his  heart  so 
heavy,  and  why  were  their  hearts  so  light  ? 

As  the  day  went  on  my  brother's  melancholy  and  the  mirth 
of  the  young  men  seemed  to  increase.  Full  of  youth  and  hope 
they  talked  of  the  joyous  future,  and  built  up  pleasant  castles 
in  the  air.  Battisto,  grown  more  communicative,  admitted  that 
to  marry  Margherita,  and  become  a  master  mosaicist,  would 
fulfil  the  dearest  dream  of  his  life.     Stefano,  not  being  in  love, 


3 26  A   MESSAGE  FROM  THE  SEA. 

preferred  to  travel.  Christien,  who  seemed  to  be  the  n/ost 
prosperous,  declared  that  it  was  his  darling  ambition  to  rent  a 
[arm  in  his  native  Kander  Valley,  and  lead  the  patriarchal  life 
of  his  fathers.  As  for  the  musical-box  trade,  he  said,  one  should 
live  in  Geneva,  to  make  it  answer  ;  and  for  his  part  he  loved 
the  pine-forests  and  the  snow-peaks  better  than  all  the  towns  in 
Europe.  Marie,  too,  had  been  born  among  the  mountains, 
and  it  would  break  her  heart  if  she  thought  she  were  to  live  in" 
Geneva  all  her  life  and  never  see  the  Kander  Thai  again. 
Chatting  thus  the  morning  wore  on  to  noon,  and  the  party 
rested  awhile  in  the  shade  of  a  clump  of  gigantic -firs  festooned 
with  trailing  banners  of  gray-green  moss-. 

Here  they  ate  their  lunch,  to  the  silvery  music  of  one  of 
Christien' s  little  boxes,  and  by  and  by  heard  the  sullen  echo  of 
an  avalanche  far  away  on  the  shoulder  of  the  Jungfrau. 

Then  they  went  on  again  in  the  burning  afternoon,  to  heights 
where  the  Aip-rose  fails  from  the  sterile  steep,  and  the  brown 
lichen  grows  more  and  more  scantily  among  the  stones.  Here 
only  the  bleached  and  barren  skeletons  of  a  forest  of  dead  pines 
varied  the  desolate  monotony;  and  high  on  the  summit  of  the 
pass  stood  a  little  solitary  inn,  between  them  and  the  sky. 

At  this  inn  they  rested  again,  and  drank  to  the  health  of 
Christien  and  his  bride  in  a  jug  of  country  wine.  He  was  in 
uncontrollable  spirits,  and  shook  hands  with  them  all,  over  and 
over  again. 

"  By  nightfall  to-morrow,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  hold  her  once 
more  in  my  arms  !  It  is  now  nearly  two  years  since  I  came 
home  to  see  her.  at  the  end  of  my  apprenticeship.  Now  I  am 
foreman,  with  a  salary  of  thirty  francs  a  week,  and  well  able 
to  marry." 

"Thirty  francs  a  week!"  echoed  Battisto.  ';  Corpo  di 
Bacco  !  that  is  a  little  fortune." 

Christien's  face  beamed. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  we  shall  be  very  happy  ;  and  by  and  by — 
who  knows? — we  may  end  our  days  in  the  Kander  Thai,  and 
bring  up  our  children  to  succeed  us.  Ah  !  if  Marie  knew  that 
I  should  be  there  to-morrow  night  how  delighted  she  would 
be!" 

"How  so,  Christien?"  said  my  brother.  "Does  she  not 
expect  you  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  She  has  no  idea  that  I  can  be  there  till 
the  day  after  to-morrow, — nor  could  I  if  I  took  the  road  all 
round  by  Unterseen  and  Friitigen.  I  mean  to  sleep  to-night 
at  Lauterbrunnen,  and  to-morrow  morning  shall  strike  across 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT. 


327 


the  Tschlingel  glacier  to  Kandersteg.     If  I  rise  a  little  before 
daybreak  I  shall  be  at  home  by  sunset." 

At  this  moment  the  path  took  a  sudden  turn,  and  began  to 
descend  in  sight  of  an  immense  prospective  of  very  distant  val- 
leys. Christien  flung  his  cap  into  the  air  and  uttered  a  great 
shout. 

"  Look  !  "  said  he,  stretching  out  his  arms  as  if  to  embrace 
all  the  dear  familiar  scene, — "  Oh  !  Look  !  There  are  the  hills 
and  woods  of  Interlaken  ;  and  here,  below  the  precipices  on 
which  we  stand,  lies  Lauterbrunnen  !  God  be  praised,  who 
has  made  our  native  land  so  beautiful  ! " 

The  Italians  smiled  at  each  other,  thinking  their  own  Arno 
Valley  far  more  fair  ;  but  my  brother's  heart  warmed  to  the  bov, 
and  echoed  his  thanksgiving  in  that  spirit  which  accepts  all 
beauty  as  a  birthright  and  an  inheritance.  And  now  -their 
course  lay  across  an  immense  plateau,  all  rich  with  corn-fields 
and  meadows,  and  studded  with  substantial  homesteads  built 
of  old  brown  wood,  with  huge,  sheltering  eaves,  and  strings  of 
Indian  corn  hanging  like  golden  ingots  along  the  carven  bal- 
conies. Blue  whortleberries  grew  beside  the  footway,  and  now 
and  then  they  came  upon  a  wild  gentian,  or  a  star-shaped  im- 
mortelle. Then  the  path  became  a  mere  zigzag  on  the  face  of 
the  precipice,  and  in  less  than  half  an  hour  they  reached  the 
lowest  level  of  the  valley.  The  glowing  afternoon  had  not  yet 
faded  from  the  uppermost  pines  when  they  were  all  dining  to- 
gether in  the  parlour  of  a  little  inn  looking  to  the  Jungfrau.  In 
the  evening  my  brother  wrote  letters,  while  the  three  lads 
strolled  about  the  village.  At  nine  o'clock  they  bade  each 
other  good  night,  and  went  to  their  several  rooms. 

Weary  as  he  was,  my  brother  found  it  impossible  to  sleep. 
The  same  unaccountable  melancholy  still  possessed  him,  and 
when  at  last  he  dropped  into  an  uneasy  slumber,  it  was  but  to 
start  over  and  over  again  from  frightful  dreams,  faint  with  a 
nameless  terror.  Toward  morning  he  fell  into  a  profound 
sleep,  and  never  woke  until  the  day  was  fast  advancing  toward 
noon.  He  then  found,  to  his  regret,  that  Christien  had  long 
since  gone.  He  had  risen  before  daybreak,  breakfasted  by 
candle-light,  and  started  off  in  the  gray  dawn, — "  as  merry," 
said  the  host,  "  as  a  fiddler  at  a  fair." 

Stefano  and  Battisto  were  still  waiting  to  see  my  brother, 
being  charged  by  Christien  with  a  friendly  farewell  message  to 
him,  and  an  invitation  to  the  wedding.  They,  too,  were  asked, 
and  meant  to  go  ;  so  my  brother  agreed  to  meet  them  at 
Interlaken  on  the  following  Tuesday,  whence  they  might  walk 


328  A  MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

to  Kandersteg  by  easy  stages,  reaching  their  destination  on  the 
Thursday  morning,  in  time  to  go  to  church  with  the  bridal 
party.  My  brother  then  bought  some  of  the  little  Florentine 
cameos,  wished  the  two  boys  every  good  fortune,  and  watched 
them  down  the  road  till  he  could  see  them  no  longer. 

Left  now  to  himself,  he  wandered  out  with  his  sketch-book, 
and  spent  the  day  in  the  upper  valley  ;  at  sunset  he  dined  alone 
in  his  chamber,  by  the  light  of  a  single  lamp.  This  meal  de- 
spatched, he  drew  nearer  to  the  fire,  took  out  a  pocket  edition 
of  Goethe's  Essays  on  Art,  and  promised  himself  some'  hours 
of  pleasant  reading.  (Ah,  how  well  I  know  that  very  book,  in 
its  faded  cover,  and  how  often  have  I  heard  him  describe  that 
lonely  evening !)  The  night  had  by  this  time  set  in  cold  and 
wet.  The  damp  logs  spluttered  on  the  hearth,  and  a  wailing 
wind,  swept  down  the  valley,  bearing  the  rain  in  sudden  gusts 
against  the  panes.  My  brother  soon  found  that  to  read  was 
impossible.  His  attention  wandered  incessantly.  He  read  the 
same  sentence  over  and  over  again,  unconscious  of  its  mean- 
ing, and  fell  into  long  trains  of  thought  leading  far  into  the 
dim  past. 

Thus  the  hours  went  by,  and  at  eleven  o'clock  he  heard  the 
doors  closing  below,  and  the  household  retiring  to  rest.  He 
determined  to  yield  no  longer  to  this  dreaming  apathy,  He 
threw  on  fresh  logs,  trimmed  the  lamp,  and  took  several  turns 
about  the  room.  Then  he  opened  the  casement,  and  suffered 
the  rain  to  beat  against  his  face,  and  the  wind  to  ruffle  his  hair  as 
it  ruffled  the  acacia  leaves  in  the  garden  below.  Some  minutes 
passed  thus,  and  when,  at  length,  he  closed  the  window  and  came 
back  into  the  room,  his  face  and  hair  and  all  the  front  of  his  shirt 
were  thoroughly  saturated.  To  unstrap  his  knapsack  and  take 
out  a  dry  shirt  was,  of  course,  his  first  impulse, — to  drop  the  gar- 
ment, listen  eagerly,  and  start  to  has  feet,  breathless  and  bewild- 
ered, was  the  next. 

For,  borne  fitfully  upon  the  outer  breeze,  now  sweeping  past 
the  window,  now  dying  in  the  distance,  he  heard  a  well-remem- 
bered strain  of  melody,  subtle  and  silvery  as  the  "sweet  airs" 
of  Pfospero's  isle,  and  proceeding  unmistakably  from  the  musi- 
cal-box which  had,  the  day  before,  accompanied  the  lunch  under 
the  fir-trees  of  the  Wengern  Alp  ! 

Had  Christien  come  back,  and  was  it  thus  that  he  announced 
his  return  ?  If  so,  •  where  was  he  ?  Under  the  window  ?  Out- 
side in  the  corridor  ?  Sheltering  in  the  porch,  and  waiting  for 
admittance  ?  My  brother  threw  open  the  casement  again,  and 
called  him  by  his  name. 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT. 


329 


"Christien  !     Is  that  you?" 

All  without  was  intensely  silent.  He  could  hear  the  last  gust 
of  wind  and  rain  moaning  farther  and  farther  away  upon  its  wild 
course  down  the  valley,  and  the  pine-trees  shivering  like  living 
things. 

"  Christien  !  "  he  said  again,  and  his  own  voice  seemed  to  echo 
strangely  on  his  ear.      "  Speak  !      Is  it  you  ?  " 

Still  no  one  answered.  He  leaned  out  into  the  dark  night, 
but  could  see  nothing, — -not  even  the  outline  on  the  porch  be- 
low. He  began  to  think  that  his  imagination  had  deceived  him, 
when  suddenly  the  strain  burst  forth  again  :  this  time  apparently 
in  his  own  chamber. 

As  he  turned,  expecting  to  find  Christien  at  his  elbow,  the 
sounds  broke  off  abruptly,  and  a  sensation  of  intensest  cold 
seized  him  in  every  limb, — not  the  mere  chill  of  nervous  terror, 
not  the  mere  physical  result  of  exposure  to  wind  and  rain, 
but  a  deadly  freezing  of  every  vein,  a  paralysis  of  every  nerve, 
an  appalling  consciousness  that  in  a  few  moments  more  the 
lungs  must  cease  to  play,  and  the  heart  to  beat  !  Powerless  to 
speak  or  stir,  he  closed  his  eyes,  and  believed  that  he  was 
dying. 

This  strange  faintness  lasted  but  a  few  seconds.  Gradually 
the  vital  warmth  returned,  and,  with  it,  strength  to  close  the 
window,  and  stagger  to  a  chair.  As  he  did  so,  he  found  the 
breast  of  his  shirt  all  stiff  and  frozen,  and  the  rain  clinging  in 
solid  icicles  upon  his  hair. 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  had  stopped  at  twenty  minutes 
before  twelve.  He  took  his  thermometer  from  the  chimney- 
piece,  and  found  the  mercury  at  sixty-eight.  Heavenly  powers  ! 
Ho,,r  were  these  things  possible  in  a  temperature  of  sixty-eight 
degrees,  and  with  a  large  fire  blazing  on  the  hearth. 

He  poured  out  half  a  tumbler  of  cognac,  and  drank  it  at  a 
draught.  Going  to  bed  was  out  of  the  question.  He  felt  that 
he  dared  not  sleep, — that  he  scarcely  dared  to  think.  All  he 
could  do  was  to  change  his  linen,  pile  on  more  logs,  wrap  himself 
in  his  blankets,  and  sit  all  night  in  an  easy-chair  before  the  fire. 

My  brother  had  not  long  sat  thus,  however,  before  the  warmth, 
and  probably  the  nervous  reaction,  drew  him  off  to  sleep.  In 
the  morning,  he  found  himself  lying  on  the  bed,  without  being 
able  to  remember  in  the  least  how  or  when  he  reached  it. 

It  was  again  a  glorious  day.  The  rain  and  wind  were  gone, 
and  the  Silverhorn  at  the  end  of  the  valley  lifted  its  head  into  an 
unclouded  sky.  Looking  out  upon  the  sunshine,  he  almost 
doubted  the  events  of  the  night,  and  but  for  the  evidence  of  his 


330 


A    MESSAGE   FROM   THE   SEA. 


watch,  which  still  pointed  to  twenty  minutes  before  twelve, 
would  have  been  disposed  to  treat  the  whole  matter  as  a  dream. 
As  it  was,  he  attributed  more  than  half  his  terrors  to  the  prompt- 
ings of  an  over-active  and  over-wearied  brain.  For  all  this,  he 
still  felt  depressed  and  uneasy,  and  so  very  unwilling  to  pass 
another  night  at  Lauterbrunnen,  that  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
proceed  that  morning  to  Interlaken.  While  he  was  yet  loiter- 
ing over  his  breakfast,  and  considering  whether  he  should  walk 
the  seven  miles  of  road,  or  hire  a  vehicle,  a  char  came  rapidly 
up  to  the  inn-door,  and  a  young  man  jumped  out. 

"  Why,  Eattisto  !  "  exclaimed  my  brother,  in  astonishment, 
as  he  came  into  the  room  ;  "  what  brings  you  here  to-day  ? 
Where  is  Stefano  ?  " 

"  I  have  left  him  at  Interlaken,  signor,"  replied  the  Italian. 

Something  there  was  in  his  voice,  something  in  his  face,  both 
strange  and  startling. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  my  brother,  breathlessly. 
"  He  is  not  ill  ?     No  accident  has  happened  ?  " 

Battisto  shook  his  head,  glanced  furtively  up  and  down  the 
passage,  and  closed  the  door. 

"Stefano  is  well,  signor  ;  but — but  a  circumstance  has  oc- 
curred— a  circumstance  so  strange  ! — Signor,  do  you  believe  in 
spirits  ?  " 

"  In  spirits,  Battisto  ?  " 

"  Ay,  signor  ;  for  if  ever  the  spirit  of  any  man,  dead  or  living, 
appealed  to  human  ears,  the  spirit  of  Christien  came  to  me  last 
night,  at  twenty  minutes  before  twelve  o'clock." 

"At  twenty  minutes  before  twelve  o'clock!"  repeated  my 
brother. 

"  I  was  in  bed,  signor,  and  Stefano  was  sleeping  in  the  same 
room.  I  had  gone  up  quite  warm,  and  had  fallen  asleep,  full 
of  pleasant  thoughts.  By  and  by,  although  I  had  plenty  of  bed- 
clothes, and  a  rug  over  me  as  well  I  woke,  frozen  with  cold, 
and  scarcely  able  to  breathe.  I  tried  to  call  to  Stefano,  but  I 
had  no  power  to  utter  the  slightest  sound.  I  thought  my  last 
moment  was  come.  All  at  once  1  heard  a  sound  under  the 
window, — a  sound  which  I  knew  to  be  Christien's  musical  box  ; 
and  it  played  as  it  played  when  we  lunched  under  the  fir-trees, 
except  that  it  was  more  wild  and  strange  and  melancholy,  and 
most  solemn  to  hear, — awful  to  hear  !  Then,  signor,  it  grew 
fainter  and  fainter, — and  then  it  seemed  to  float  past  upon  the 
wind  and  die  aw  ;y.  When  it  ceased,  my  frozen  blood  grew 
warm  again,  and  I  cried  out  to  Stefano.  When  I  told  him  what 
happened,  he  declared  I  had  been  only  dreaming.     I  made  him 


THE    CLUB-NIGHT. 


331 


strike  a  light,  that  I  might  look  at  my  watch.  It  pointed  to 
twenty  minutes  before  twelve,  and  had  stopped  there  ;  and — 
stranger  still — Stefano's  watch  had  done  the  very  same.  Now 
tell  me,  signor,  do  you  believe  that  there  is  any  meaning  in 
this,  or  do  you  think,  as  Stefaiio  persists  in  thinking,  that  it 
was  all  a  dream  ?  " 

"  "What  is  your  own  conclusion,  Battisto  ?  " 

"  My  conclusion,  signor,  is  that  some  harm  has  happened  to 
poor  Christian  on  the  glacier,  and  that  his  spirit  came  to  me 
last  night." 

"Battisto,  he  shall  have  help  if  living,  or  rescue  for  his  poor 
corps.:  if  dead  ;  for  I,  too,  believe  that  all  is  not  well." 

And  with  this  my  brother  told  him  briefly  what  had  occurred 
to  himself  in  the  night  ;  despatched  messengers  for  the  three  best 
guides  in  Lauterbrunnen  ;  and  prepared  ropes,  ice-hatchets, 
alpenstocks,  and  all  such  matters  necessary  for  a  glacier  expedi- 
tion. Hasten  as  he  would,  however,  it  was  nearly  midday  be- 
fore the  party  started. 

Arriving  in  about  half  an  hour  at  a  place  called  Stechelberg, 
they  left  the  char  in  which  they  had  travelled  so  far,  at  a  rhalet, 
and  ascended  a  steep  path  in  full  view  of  the  Briethorn  glacier, 
which  rose  up  to  the  left  like  a  battlemented  wall  of  solid  ice. 
The  way  now  lay  for  some  time  among  pastures  and  pine-forests. 
Then  they  came  to  a  little  colony  of  chalets,  called  Steinberg, 
where  they  filled  their  water  bottles,  got  their  ropes  in  readiness, 
and  prepared  for  the  Tschlingel  glacier.  A  few  minutes  more 
and  they  were  on  the  ice. 

At  this  point  the  guides  called  a  halt  and  consulted  together. 
One  was  for  striking  across  the  lower  glacier  toward  the  left 
and  reaching  the  upper  glacier  by  the  rocks  which  bound  it  on 
the  south.  The  other  two  preferred  the  north,  or  right  side  ; 
and  this  my  brother  finally  took.  The  sun  was  now  pouring 
down  with  almost  tropical  intensity,  and  the  surface  of  the  ice, 
which  was  broken  into  long,  treacherous  fissures,  smooth  as 
glass  and  blue  as  the  summer  sky,  was  both  difficult  and  dan- 
gerous. Silently  and  cautiously  they  went,  tied  together  at 
intervals  of  about  three  yards  each  ;  with  two  guides  in  front, 
and  the  third  bringing  up  the  rear.  Turning  presently  to  the 
right,  they  found  themselves  at  the  foot  of  a  steep  rock,  some 
forty  feet  in  height,  up  which  they  must  climb  to  reach  the  up- 
per glacier.  The  only  way  in  which  Battisto  or  my  brother 
could  hope  to  do  this  was  by  the  help  of  a  rope  steadied  from 
below  and  above.  Two  of  the  guides  accordingly  clambered 
up  the  face  of  the  crag  by  notches  in  the  surface  and  one  re- 


332 


A   MESSAGE  FROM  THE  SEA. 


mained  below.  The  rope  was  then  let  down,  and  my  brother 
prepared  to  go  first.  As  he  planted  his  foot  in  the  first  notch  a 
smothered  cry  from  Battisto  arrested  him. 

"  Santa  Maria  !     Signor  !     Look  yonder  !  " 

My  brother  looked,  and  there  (he  ever  afterward  declared),  as 
surely  as  there  is  a  heaven  above  us  all,  he  saw  Christien  Baii- 
manii  standing  in  the  full  sunlight  not  a  hundred  yards  distant  ! 
Almost  in  the  same  moment  that  my  brother  recognized  him  he 
was  gone.  He  neither  faded,  nor  sank  down,  nor  moved  away  ; 
but  was  simply  gone  as  if  he  had  never  been.  Pale  as  death, 
Battisto  fell  upon  his  knees  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 
My  brother,  awe-stricken  and  speechless,  leaned  against  the 
rock,  and  felt  that  the  object  of  his  journey  was  but  too  fatally 
accomplished.  As  for  the  guides,  they  could  not  conceive  what 
had  happened. 

"  Did  you  see  nothing  ?  "  asked  my  brother  and  Battisto,  both 
together. 

But  the  men  had  seen  nothing,  and  the  one  who  had  remained 
below  said,   "  What  should  I  see  but  the  ice  and  the  sun  ?  " 

To  this  my  brodier  made  no  other  reply  than  by  announcing 
his  intention  to  have  a  certain  crevasse,  from  which  he  had  not 
once  removed  his  eyes  since  he  saw  the  figure  standing  on  the 
brink,  thoroughly  explored  before  he  went  a  step  further,  where- 
upon the  two  men  came  down  from  the  top  of  the  crag,  re- 
sumed the  ropes,  and  followed  my  brother  incredulously.  At 
the  narrow  end  of  the  fissure  he  paused,  and  drove  his  alpen- 
stock firmly  into  the  ice.  It  was  an  unusually  long  crevasse, — ■ 
at  first  a  mere  crack,  but  widening  gradually  as  it  went,  and 
reaching  down  to  unknown  depths  of  dark,  deep  blue,  fringed 
with  long,  pendent  icicles  like  diamond  stalactites.  Before  they 
had  followed  the  course  of  the  crevasse  for  more  than  ten  min- 
utes the  youngest  of  the  guides  uttered  a  hasty  exclamation. 

"I  see  something  !  "  cried  he.  "Something  dark,  wedged  in 
the  teeth  of  the  crevasse,  a  great  way  down  !  " 

They  all  saw  it, — a  mere  indistinguishable  mass,  almost  closed 
over  by  the  ice-walls  at  their  feet.  My  brother  offered  a  hun- 
dred francs  to  the  man  who  would  go  down  and  bring  it  up. 
They  all  hesitated. 

"  We  don't  know  what  it  is,"  said  one. 

"  Perhaps  it's  only  a  dead  chamois,"  suggested  another. 

Their  apathy  enraged  him. 

"It  is  no  chamois,"  he  said,  angrily.  "It  is  the  body  of 
Christien  Baumann,  native  of  Kandersteg.     And,  by    Heaven, 


THE    CI  UB- NIGHT. 


333 


if  you  are  all  too  cowardly  to  make  the  attempt,  I  will  go  down 
myself! " 

The  youngest  guide  threw  off  his  hat  and  coat,  tied  a  rope 
about  his  waist,  and  took  a  hatchet  in  his  hand. 

'■  I  will  go,  monsieur,"  said  he,  and  without  another  word 
suffered  himself  to  be  lowered  in.  My  brother  turned  away. 
A  sickening  anxiety  came  upon  him,  and  presently  he  heard  the 
dull  echo  of  the  hatchet  far  down  in  the  ice.  Then  there  was  a 
call  for  another  rope,  and  then  —  the  men  all  drew  aside  in  si- 
lence, and  my  brother  saw  the  youngest  guide  standing  once 
more  beside  the  chasm,  flushed  and  trembling,  with  the  body  of 
Christien  lying  at  his  feet. 

Poor  Christien  !  They  made  a  rough  bier  with  their  ropes 
and  alpenstocks,  and  canried  him,  with  great  difficulty,  back  to 
Steinberg.  There  they  got  additional  help  as  far  as  Stechel- 
berg,  where  they  laid  him  in  the  char,  and  so  brought  him  on 
to  Lauterbrunnen.  The  next  day  my  brother  made  it  his  sad 
business  to  precede  the  body  to  Kandersteg,  and  prepare  his 
friends  for  its  arrival.  To  this  day,  though  all  these  things  hap- 
pened thirty  years  ago,  he  cannot  bear  to  recall  Marie's  de- 
spair, or  all  the  mourning  that  he  innocently  brought  upon  that 
peaceful  valley.  Poor  Marie  has  been  dead  this  many  a  year  ; 
and  when  my  brother  last  passed  through  the  Kander  Thai  on 
his  way  to  the  Ghemmi,  he  saw  her  grave,  beside  the  grave  oi 
Christien  Baumann,  in  the  village  burial-ground.  This  is  my 
brother's  Ghost  Story. 

The  chairman  now  announced  that  the  clock  declared  the  tee- 
totum spun  out,  and  that  the  meeting  was  dissolved.  Yet  even 
then  the  young  fisherman  could  not  refrain  from  once  more  ask- 
ing his  question.  This  occasioned  the  Gentlemen  King  Ar- 
thurs, as  they  got  on  their  hats  and  great-coats,  evidently  to 
regard  him  as  a  young  fisherman  who  was  touched  in  the  head, 
and  some  of  them  even  cherished  the  idea  that  the  captain  was 
his  keeper. 

As  no  man  dared  to  awake  the  mighty  Parvis,  it  was  resolved 
that  a  heavy  member  of  the  society  should  fall  against  him  as  it 
were  by  accident,  and  immediately  withdraw  to  a  safe  distance. 
The  experiment  was  so  happily  accomplished  that  Mr.  Parvis 
started  to  his  feet  on  the  best  terms  with  himself,  as  a  light 
sleeper  whose  wits  never  left  him,  and  who  could  always  be 
broad  awake  on  occaison.  Quite  an  airy  jocundity  sat  upon 
this  respectable  man  in  consequence  ;  and  he  rallied  the  brisk- 
est member  of  the  fraternity  on  being  "  a  sleepy-head,"  with  an 


334 


A   MESSAGE  FROM    THE   SEA. 


amount  of  humour  previously  supposed  to  be  quite  incompati- 
ble with  his  responsible  circumstances  in  life. 

Gradually  the  society  departed  into  the  cold  night,  and  the 
captain  and  his  young  companion  were  left  alone.     The  cap-  H 
tain  had  so  refreshed  himself  by  shaking  hands  with  everybody 
to  an  amazing  extent  that  he  was  in  no  hurry  to  go  to  bed. 

"To-morrow  morning,"  said  the  captain,  "we  must  find  out 
the  lawyer  and  the  clergyman  here  ;  they  are  the  people  to  con- 
sult on  our  business.  And  I'll  be  up  and  out  early,  and  asking 
questions  of  everybody  I  see  ;  thereby  propagating  at  least  one 
of  the  Institutions  of  my  native  country." 

As  the  captain  was  slapping  his  leg  the  landlord  appeared 
with  two  small  candlesticks. 

"Your  room,"  said  he,  "  is  at  the  top  of  the  house.  An  ex- 
cellent bed,  but  you'll  hear  the  wind." 

"  I've  heard  it  afore,"  replied  the  captain.  "  Come  and  make 
a  passage  with  me,  and  you  shall  hear  it." 

"It's  considered  to  blow  here,"  said  the  landlord. 

"  Weather  gets  its  young  strength  here,"  replied  the  captain  ; 
"  goes  into  training  for  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  Yours  are  little 
winds  just  beginning  to  feel  their  way  and  crawl.  Make  a  voy- 
age with  me,  and  I'll  show  you  a  grown-up  one  out  on  business. 
But  you  haven't  told  my  friend  where  he  lies." 

"  It's  the  room  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  before  you  take  the 
second  staircase  through  the  wall,"  returned  the  landlord. 
"  You  can't  mistake  it, — it's  a  double-bedded  room,— -because 
there's  no  other." 

"The  room  where  the  seafaring  man  is  !  "  said  the  captain. 

"  The  room  where  the  seafaring  man  is." 

"  I  hope  he  mayn't  finish  telling  his  story  in  his  sleep,"  re- 
marked the  captain.  "  Shall  /  turn  into  the  room  where  the 
seafaring  man  is,  Alfred  ?  " 

"  No,  Captain  Jorgan,  why  should  you  ?  There  would  be 
little  fear  of  his  waking  me,  even  if  he  told  his  whole  story  out." 

."  He's  in  the  bed  nearest  the  door,"  said  the  landlord. 
"  I've  been  in  to  look  at  him  once,  and  he's  sound  enough. 
Good-night,  gentlemen." 

The  captain  immediately  shook  hands  with  the  landlord  in 
quite  an  enthusiastic  manner,  and  having  performed  that  na- 
tional ceremony  as  if  he  had  had  no  opportunity  of  performing 
it  for  a  long  time,. accompanied  his  young  friend  upstairs. 

"Something  tells  me,"  said  the  captain  as  they  went,  "that 
Miss  Kitty  Tregarthen's  marriage  ain't  put  off  for  long,  and  that 
we  shall  light  on  what  we  want." 


THE   SEAFARING   MAN. 


335 


"  I  hope  so.     When,  do  you  think?" 

"Wa'al,  I  couldn't  say  just  when,  but  soon.  Here's  your 
room,"  said  the  captain,  softly  opening  the  door  and  looking 
in  ;  "  and  here's  the  berth  of  the  seafaring  man.  I  wonder 
what  like  he  is.      He  breathes  deep,  don't  he?" 

"  Sleeping  like  a  child,  to  judge  from  the  sound,"  said  the 
young  fisherman. 

"Dreaming  of  home,  maybe,"  returned  the  captain.  "Can't 
see  him.  Sleeps  a  deal  more  wholesomely  than  Arson  Parvis, 
but  a'most  as  sound  ;  don't  he?     "  Good-night,  fellow-traveller." 

"  Good-night,  Captain  Jorgan,  and  many,  many  thanks  !  " 

"I'll  wait  till  I  'arn  'em,  boy,  afore  1  take 'em,"  returned  the 
captain,  clapping  him  cheerfully  on  the  back.  "  Pleasant  dreams 
of — you  know  who  !" 

When  the  young  fisherman  had  closed  the  door,  the  captain 
waited  a  moment  or  two,  listening  for  any  stir  on  the  part  of  the' 
unknown  seafaring  man.  But  none  being  audible,  the  captain 
pursued  the  way  to  his  own  chamber. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


The  Seafaring  Man. 


HO  was  the  Seafaring  Man?  And  what  might  he  have 
to  say  for  himself?  He  answers  those  questions  in 
his  own  words  : 


I  begin  by  mentioning  what  happened  on  my  journey  north- 
ward, from  Falmouth,  in  Cornwall,  to  Steepways,  in  Devon- 
shire. I  have  no  occasion  to  say  (being  here)  that  it  brought 
me  last  night  to  Lanrean.  I  had  business  in  hand  which  was 
part  very  serious,  and  part  (as  I  hoped)  very  joyful  ;  and  this 
business,  you  will  please  to  remember,  was  the  cause  of  my 
journey. 

After  landing  at  Falmouth  I  travelled  on  foot,  because  of  the 
expense  of  riding,  and  because  I  had  anxieties  heavy  on  my 
mind,  and  walking  was  the  best  way  I  knew  of  to  lighten  them. 
The  first  two  days  of  my  journey  the  weather  was  fine  and  soft, 
the  wind  being  mostly  light  airs  from  south,  and  south  by 
west.  On  the  third  day  [  took  a  wrong  turning,  and  had  to 
fetch  a  long  circuit  to  get  right  again.     Toward  evening,  while 


336  A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

1  was  still  on  the  road,  the  wind  shifted  ;  and  a  sea-fog  came 
rolling  in  on  the  land.  1  went  on  through,  what  I  ask  leave  to 
call,  the  white  darkness  ;  keeping  the  sound  of  the  sea  on  my 
left  hand  for  a  guide,  and  feeling  those  anxieties  of  mine  before 
mentioned  pulling  heavier  and  heavier  at  my  mind,  as  the  fog 
thickened  and  the  wet  trickled  down  my  face. 

It  was  still  early  in  the  evening,  when  I  heard  a  dog  bark, 
away  in  the  distance,  on  the  right  hand  side  of  me.  Following 
the  sound  as  well  as  I  could,  and  shouting  to  the  dog  from  time 
to  time,  to  set  him  barking  again,  I  stumbled  up  at  last  against 
the  back  of  a  house  ;  and,  hearing  voices  inside,  groped  my  way 
round  to  the  door,  and  knocked  on  it  smartly  with  the  flat  of  my 
hand. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  slip-shod  hussy  in  a  torn  gown  ; 
and  the  first  inquiries  I  made  of  her  discovered  to  me  that  the 
house  was  an  inn. 

Before  I  could  ask  more  questions  the  landlord  opened  the 
parlour  of  the  inn  and  came  out.  A  clamour  of  voices,  and  a 
fine,  comforting  smell  of  fire  and  grog  and  tobacco  came  out, 
also,  along  with  him. 

"The  tap-room  fire's  out,"  says  the  landlord.  "You  don't 
think  you  would  dry  more  comfortable-like,  if  you  went  to  bed  ?  " 
says  he,  looking  hard  at  me. 

"No,"  says  I,  looking  hard  at  him,  "I  don't." 

Before  more  words  were  spoken  a  jolly  voice  hailed  us  from 
inside  the  parlour. 

"  What's  the  matter,  landlord?"  says  the  jolly  voice.  "  Who 
is  it?" 

"A  seafaring  man,  by  the  looks  of  him,"  says  the  landlord, 
turning  round  from  me,  and  speaking  into  the  parlour. 

"  Let's  have  the  seafaring  man  in,"  says  the  voice.  "  Let's 
vote  him  free  of  the  Club,  for  this  night  only." 

A  lot  of  other  voices  thereupon  said,  "  Hear  !  hear  ! "  in  a 
solemn  manner,  as  if  it  was  church  service.  After  which  there 
was  a  hammering,  as  if  it  was  a  trunk-maker's  shop.  After 
which  the  landlord  took  me  by  the  arm,  gave  me  a  push  into  the 
parlour,  and  there  I  was,  free  of  the  Club. 

The  change  from  the  fog  outside  to  the  warm  room  and  the 
shining  candles  so  completely  dazed  me,  that  I  stood  blinking 
at  the  company  more  like  an  owl  than  a  man.  Upon  which 
the  company  again  said,  "Hear!  hear!"  Upon  which  I  re- 
turned for  answer,  "  Hear  !  hear  !  " — considering  those  words 
to  mean,  in  the  Club's  language,  something  similar  to  "  How 
d'ye  do."     The  landlord  then  took  me  to  a  round  table  by  the 


THE  SEAFARING  MAN. 


337 


fire,  where  I  got  my  supper,  together  with  the  information  that 
my  bedroom,  when  I  wanted  it,  was  number  four  up-stairs. 

I  noticed  before  I  fell  to  with  my  knife  and  fork,  that  the 
room  was  full,  and  that  the  chairman  at  the  top  of  the  table  was 
the  man  with  the  jolly  voice,  and  was  seemingly  amusing  the 
company  by  telling  them  a  story.  I  paid  more  attention  to  my 
supper  than  to  what  he  was  saying;  and  all  I  can  now  report 
of  it  is,  that  his  story-telling  and  my  eating  and  drinking  both 
came  to  an  end  together. 

"  Now,"  says  the  chairman,  "  I  have  told  my  story  to  start 
you  all.  Who  comes  next?"  He  took  up  a  teetotum,  and 
gave  it  a  spin  on  the  table.  When  it  toppled  over,  it  fell  oppo- 
site me  ;  upon  which  the  chairman  said,  "  It's  your  turn  next. 
Order  !  order  !  I  call  on  the  seafaring  man  to  tell  the  second 
story  !  "  He  finished  the  words  off  with  a  knock  of  his  ham- 
mer ;  and  the  Club  (having  nothing  else  to  say,  as  I  suppose) 
tried  back,  and  once  again  sang  out  all  together,  "  Hear ! 
hear  ! " 

"  I  hope  you  will  please  to  let  me  off,"  I  said  to  the  chairman, 
"  for  the  reason  that  I  have  got  no  story  to  tell." 

"  No  story  to  tell  ! "  says  he.  "  A  sailor  without  a  story  ! 
Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  ?     Nobody  !  " 

"  Nobody,"  says  the  Club,  bursting  out  all  together  at  last 
with  a  new  word,  by  way  of  a  change. 

I  can't  say  I  quite  relished  the  chairman's  talking  of  me  as  if 
I  was  before  the  mast.  A  man  likes  his  true  quality  to  be 
known,  when  he  is  publicly  spoken  to  among  a  party  of 
strangers.  I  made  my  true  quality  known  to  the  chairman  and 
company  in  these  words  : 

"  All  men  who  follow  the  sea,  gentlemen,  are  sailors,"  I 
said.  "  But  there's  a  degree  aboard  ship  as  well  as  ashore. 
My  rating,  if  you  please,  is  the  rating  of  a  second  mate." 

"  Ay,  ay,  surely  ? "  says  the  chairman.  "  Where  did  you 
leave  your  ship  ?  " 

"  At  the  bottom  of  the  sea,"  I  made  answer, — which  was,  I 
am  sorry  to  say,  only  too  true. 

"What!  you've  been  wrecked?"  says  he.  "Tell  us  all 
about  it.  A  shipwreck-story  is  just  the  sort  of  story  we  like. 
Silence  there,  all  down  the  table ! — silence  for  the  second 
mate  ! " 

The  Club,  upon  this,  instead  of  keeping  silence,  broke  out 
vehemently  with  another  new  word,  and  said,  "  Chair  !"  After 
which  every  man  suddenly  held  his  peace,  and  looked  at  me. 

I  did  a  very  foolish  thing.  Without  stopping  to  take  coun- 
15 


338 


A    MESSAGE   FROM    THE  SEA. 


sel  with  myself,  I  started  off  at  score,  and  did  just  what  (lie 
chairman  had  hidden  me.  U  they  had  waited  the  whole  night 
for  it,  I  should  never  have  told  diem  the  story  they  wanted  from 
me  at  first,  having  all  my  life  been  a  wretched  bad  hand  at  such 
'matters, — for  the  reason,  as  I  take  it,  that  a  story  is  bound  to 
be  something  which  is  not  true.  But  when  I  found  the  com- 
pany willing,  on  a  sudden,  to  put  up  with  nothing  better  than 
the  account  of  my  shipwreck  (which  is  not  a  story  at  all),  the 
unexpected  luck  of  being  let  off  with  only  telling  the  truth  about 
myself  was  too  much  of  a  temptation  for  me, — so  I  up  and  told 
it. 

I  got  on  well  enough  with  the  storm,  and  the  striking  of  the 
vessel,  and  the  strange  chance  afterward,  which  proved  to  be 
the  saving  of  my  life, — the  assembly  all  listening  (to  my  great 
surprise)  as  if  they  had  never  heard  anything  of  the  sort  before. 
But  when  the  necessity  came  next  for  going  further  than  this, 
and  for  telling  them  what  had  happened  to  me  after  the  saving 
of  my  life, — or,  to  put  it  plainer,  for  telling  them  what  place  I 
was  cast  away  on,  and  what  company  I  was  cast  away  in, — the 
words  died  straight  off  on  my  lips.  For  this  reason,  namely, 
that  those  particulars  of  my  statement  made  up  just  that  part 
of  it  which  I  couldn't  and  durstn't  let  out  to  strangers, — no,  not 
if  every  man  among  them  had  offered  me  a  hundred  pounds 
apiece,  on  the  spot,  to  do  it ! 

"  Go  on  !  "  says  the  chairman.  "  What  happened  next  ? 
How  did  you  get  on  shore  ?  " 

Feeling  what  a  fool  I  had  been  to  run  myself  headlong  into 
a  scrape,  for  want  of  thinking  before  I  spoke,  I  now  cast  about 
discreetly  in  my  mind  for  the  b$st  means  of  finishing  offdiand 
without  letting  out  a  word  to  the  company  concerning  those 
particulars  before  mentioned.  I  was  some  little  time  before 
seeing  my  way  to  this  ;  keeping  the  chairman  and  company  ah 
the  while  waiting  for  an  answer.  The  Club  losing  patience,  in 
consequence,  got  from  staring  hard  at  me,  to  drumming  with 
their  feet,  and  then  to  calling  out  lustily,  "Go  on!  go  on! 
Chair!  Order!"  and  such  like.  In  the  midst  of  this  childish 
hubbub  I  saw  my  way  to  what  I  considered  to  be  rather  a  neat 
finish,  and  got  on  my  legs  to  ease  them  all  off  with  it  hand- 
somely. 

"  Hear  !  hear  !  "  says  the  Club.  "  He's  going  on  again  at 
last." 

"  Gentlemen  !  "  I  made  answer,  "  with  your  permission  I  will 
now  conclude  by  wishing  you  all  good-night !  "  Saying  which 
words,   I  gave  them  a  friendly  nod,   to  make  things  pleasant, 


THE   SEAFARING   MAN. 


339 


and  walked  straight  to  the  door.  It's  hardly  to  be  believed, 
though  nevertheless  quite  true,  that  these  curious  men  all 
howled  and  groaned  at  me  directly,  as  if  I  had  done  them  some 
grievous  injury.  Thinking  I  would  try  to  pacify  them  with 
their  own  favourite  catch-word,  I  said,  "  Hear  !  hear  !  "  as  civ- 
illy as  might  be,  whereupon  they  all  returned  for  answer,  "Oh! 
oh  !:'  I  never  belonged  to  a  Club  of  any  kind  myself;  and, 
after  what  I  saw  of  that  Club,  I  don't  care  if  I  never  do. 

My  bedroom,  when  I  found  my  way  up  to  it,  was  large  and 
airy  enough,  but  not  over-clean.  There  were  two  beds  in  it, 
not  over-clean  either.  Both  being  empty,  I  had  my  choice. 
One  was  near  the  window,  and  one  near  the  door.  I  thought 
the  bed  near  the  door  looked  a  trifle  the  sweeter  of  the  two, 
and  took  it. 

After  falling  asleep,  it  was  the  gray  of  the  morning  before  I 
woke.  When  I  had  fairly  opened  my  eyes  and  shook  up  my 
memory  into  telling  me  where  I  was,  I  made  two  discoveries. 
Fust,  that  the  room  was  a  deal  colder  in  the  new  morning  than 
it  had  been  overnight.  Second,  that  the  other  bed  near  the 
window  had  got  some  one  sleeping  in  it.  Not  that  I  could  see 
the  man  from  where  I  lay  ;  but  I  heard  his  breathing  plain 
enough.  He  must  have  come  up  into  the  room,  of  course, 
after  I  had  fallen  asleep,  and  he  had  tumbled  himself  quietly 
into  bed  without  disturbing  me.  There  was  nothing  wonderful 
in  that  ;  and  nothing  wonderful  in  the  landlord  letting  the 
empty  bed  if  he  could  find  a  customer  for  it.  I  turned 
and  tried  to  go  asleep  again  ;  but  I  was  out  of  sorts, — out  of 
sorts  so  badly,  that  even  the  breathing  of  the  man  in  the  other 
bed  fretted  and  worried  me.  After  tumbling  and  tossing  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  or  more,  I  got  up  for  a  change ;  and  walked 
softly  in  my  stockings  to  the  window  to  look  at  the  morning. 

The  heavens  were  brightening  into  daylight,  and  the  mists 
were  blowing  off,  past  the  window,  like  puffs  of  smoke.  When 
I  got  even  with  the  second  bed  I  stopped  to  look  at  the  man 
in  it.  He  lay,  sound  asleep,  turned  toward  the  window;  and 
the  end  of  the  counterpane  was  drawn  up  over  the  lower  half 
of  his  face.  Something  struck  me,  on  a  sudden,  in  his  hair  and 
his  forehead  ;  and,  though  not  an  inquisitive  man  by  nature,  I 
stretched  out  my  hand  to  the  end  of  the  conterpane,  in  spite  of 
myself. 

I  uncovered  his  face  softly  ;  and  there,  in  the  morning  light, 
I  saw  my  brother,  Alfred  Raybrock. 

What  I  ought  to  have  done,  or  what  other  men  might  have 
done  in  my  place,  I  don't  know.     What  I  really  did,  was  to 


340 


A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 


drop  back  a  step, — to  steady  myself,  with  my  hand,  on  the  sill 
of  the  window, — and  to  stand  so,  looking  at  him.  Three  years 
ago  1  had  said  good-by  to  my  wife,  to  my  little  child,  to  my 
old  mother,  and  to  Brother  Alfred  here,  asleep  under  my  eyes. 
For  all  those  three  years  no  news  from  me  had  reached  them, 
—  and  the  underwriters,  as  I  knew,  must  have  long  since  re- 
parted  that  the  ship  J  sailed  in  was  lost,  and  that  all  hands  on 
board  had  perished.  My  heart  was  heavy  when  I  thought  of 
my  kindred  at  home,  and  of  the  weary  time  they  must  have 
d  and  sorrowed  before  they  gave  me  up  for  dead.  Twice 
1  leached  out  my  hand  to  wake  Alfred,  and  to  ask  him  about 
1113  wife  and  my  child;  and  twice  I  drew  it  back  again,  in  fear 
of  what  might  happen  if  he  saw  me,  standing  by  his  beddiead 
in  the  gray  morning,  like  Hugh  Raybrock  risen  up  from  the 
grave. 

1  drew  my  hand  back  the  second  time,  and  waited  a  minute. 
In  that  minute  he  woke.  I  had  not  moved,  or  spoken  a  word, 
or  touched  him, — 1  had  only  looked  at  him  longingly.  If  such 
things  could  be,  I  should  say  it  was  my  looking  that  woke  him. 
His  eyes,  when  they  opened  under  mine,  passed  on  a  sudden 
from  fast  asleep  to  broad  awake.  They  first  settled  on  my  face 
with  a  startled  look, — which  passed  directly.  He  lifted  himself 
on  his  elbow,  and  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  but  never  said  a 
word.  His  eyes  strained  and  strained  into  mine  ;  and  his  face 
turned  all  over  of  a  ghastly  white.  "Alfred  !"  I  said,  "don't 
you  know  me?''  There  seemed  to  be  a  deadly  terror  pent  up 
in  him,  and  I  thought  my  voice  might  set  it  free.  I  took  fast 
hold  of  him  by  the  hands  and  spoke  again.  "Alfred!"  I 
said  — 

O  sirs,  where  can  a  man  like  me  find  words  to  tell  all  that 
was  said  and  all  that  was  thought  between  us  two  brothers  ? 
Please  to  pardon  my  not  saying  more  cf  it  than  I  say  here. 
We  sat  down  together  side  by  side.  The  poor  lad  burst  out 
crying,  and  got  vent  that  way.  I  kept  my  hold  of  his  hands, 
and  waited  a  bit  before  I  spoke  to  him  again.  I  think  I  was 
worse  off  now  of  the  two, — no  tears  came  to  help  me, — I 
haven't  got  my  brother's  quickness  any  way;  and  my  troubles 
have  roughened  and  hardened  me  outside.  But,  God  knows, 
1  felt  it  keenly  ;  all  the  more  keenly,  maybe,  because  I  was 
slow  to  show  it. 

Alter  a  little,  I  put  the  questions  to  him  which  I  had  been 
longing  to  ask  from  the  time  when  I  first  saw  his  face  on  the 
pillow.  Had  they  all  given  me  up  at  home  for  dead  (I  asked)? 
Yes  ;  after  long,  long  hoping,  one  by  one   they  had  given  me 


THE   SEAFARING   MAN. 


341 


up, — my  wife  (God  bless  her  !)  last  of  all.  I  meant  to  ask 
next  if  my  wife  was  alive  and  well  ;  hut,  try  as  I  might,  I  could 
only  say  "Margaret?"  and  look  hard  in  my  brother's  face. 
He  knew  what  I  meant.  Yes,  (he  said.)  she  was  living;  she 
was  at  home  ;  she  was  in  her  widow's  weeds, — poor  soul  .  her 
widow's  weeds?  I  got  on  better  with  my  next  question  about 
the  child.  Was  it  born  alive  ?  Yes.  Boy  or  girl  ?  Girl.  And 
living  now;  and  much  grown?  laving,  surely,  and  grown,.— 
poor  little  thing,  what  a  question  to  ask  ! — grown  of  course,  in 
three  years!  And  mother!  Well,  mother  was  a  trifle  fallen 
away,  and  more  silent  wiaiin  herself  than  she  used  to  be, — fret- 
ting (like  my  wife)  on  nighls  when  the  sea  rose,  and  the  win- 
clows  shook  and  shivered  in  the  wind.  Thereupon  my  brother 
and  I  waited  a  bit  again, — I  with  my  questions,  and  he  with 
his  answers, — and  while  we  waited,  I  thanked  God  inwardly, 
with  all  my  heart  and  soul,  for  bringing  me  back,  living,  to  wile 
and  kindred,  while  wife  and  kindred  were  living  too. 

My  brother  dried  the  tears  off  his  face,  and  looked  at  me  a 
little.  Then  he  turned  aside  suddenly,  as  if  he  remembered 
something,  and  stole  his  hand  in  a  hurry  under  the  pillow  of  his 
bed.  Nothing  came  out  from  below  the  pillow  but  his  black 
neck-handkerchief,  which  he  now  unfolded  slowly,  looking  at 
me  all  the  while  with  something  strange  in  his  face  that  I 
couldn't  make  out. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  I  asked  him.  "  What  are  you  look- 
ing at  me  like  that  for  ?  " 

Instead  of  making  answer,  he  took  a  crumpled  morsel  of 
paper  out  of  his  neck-handkerchief,  opened  it  carefully,  and 
held  it  to  the  light  to  let  me  see  what  it  was.  Lord  in  heaven  ! 
— my  own  writing, — the  morsel  of  paper  I  had  committed,  long, 
long  since,  to  the  mercy  of  the  deep.  Thousands  and  thou- 
sands of  miles  away  I  had  trusted  that  Message  to  the  waters. 
and  here  it  was  now,  in  my  brother's  hands  !  A  chilly  fear 
came  over  me  at  the  seeing  it  again.  Scrap  of  paper  as  it 
was,  it  looked  to  my  eyes  like  the  ghost  of  my  own  past  self, 
gone  home  before  me  invisibly  over  the  great  wastes  of  the 
sea. 

My  brother  pointed  down  solemnly  to  the  writing. 

"  Hugh,"  he  said,  "  were  you  in  your  right  mind  when  you 
wrote  those  words  ?  " 

"Tell  me,  first,"  I  made  answer,  "how  and  when  the  Mes- 
sage came  to  you.  I  can't  quiet  myself  fit  to  talk  till  I  know 
that." 

He  told  me  how  the  paper  had  come  to  hand, — also  how  his 


342 


A  MESSAGE  FROM  THE  SEA. 


good  friend,  the  captain,  having  promised  to  help  him,  was 
then  under  the  same  roof  with  our  two  selves.  But  there  he 
stopped.  It  was  not  till  later  in  the  clay  that  I  heard  of  what 
had  happened  (through  this  dreadful  doubt  about  the  money)  in 
the  matter  of  his  sweetheart  and  his  marriage. 

The  knowledge  that  the  Message  had  reached  him  by  mortal 
means — on  the  word  of  a  seaman,  I  half  doubted  it  when  I  first 
set  eyes  on  the  paper  ! — eased  me  in  my  mind  ;  and  1  now  did 
my  best  to  quiet  Alfred,  in  my  turn.  1  told  him  that  I  was  in 
my  right  senses,  though  sorely  troubled,  when  my  hand  had 
written  those  words.  Also,  that  where  the  writing  was  rubbed 
out,  I  could  tell  him,  for  his  necessary  guidance  and  mine,  what 
once  stood  in  the  empty  places.  Also,  that  1  knew  no  more  what 
the  real  truth  might  be  than  he  did,  till  inquiry  was  made,  and 
the  slander  on  father's  good  name  was  dragged  boldly  into  day- 
light to  show  itself  for  what  it  was  worth.  Lastly,  that  all  the  voy- 
age home  there  was  one  hope  and  one  determination  uppermost 
in  my  mind, — the  hope  that  I  might  get  safe  to  England,  and 
find  my  wife  and  kindred  alive  to  take  me  back  among  them 
again, — the  determination  that  I  would  put  the  doubt  about 
father's  five  hundred  pounds  to  the  proof,  if  ever  my  feet 
touched  English  land  once  more. 

"Come  out  with  me  now,  Alfred,"  I  said,  after  winding  up 
as  above,  "  and  let  me  tell  you  in  the  quiet  of  the  morning  how 
that  Message  came  to  be  written  and  committed  to  the  sea." 

We  went  downstairs  softly,  and  let  ourselves  out  without 
disturbing  any  one.  The  sun  was  just  rising  when  we  left  the 
village  and  took  our  way  slowly  over  the  cliffs.  As  soon  as  the 
sea  began  to  open  on  us  I  returned  to  that  true  story  of  mine 
which  I  had  left  but  half  told  the  night  before, — and  this  time  I 
went  through  with  it  to  the  end. 

I  shipped,  as  you  may  remember  (were  my  first  words  to 
Alfred),  in  a  second  mate's  birth,  on  board  the  Peruvian,  nine 
hundred  tons'  burden.  We  carried  an  assorted  cargo,  and  we 
were  bound  round  the  Horn,  to  Truxillo  and  Guayaquil,  on 
the  western  coast  of  South  America.  From  this  last  port — 
namely,  Guayaquil — we  were  to  go  back  to  Truxillo,  and  there 
to  take  in  another  cargo  for  the  return  voyage.  Those  were 
all  the  instructions  communicated  to  me  when  I  signed  articles 
with  the  owners,  in  London  City,  three  years  ago. 

After  we  had  been,  I  think,  a  week  at  sea,  I  heard  from  the 
first  mate,— who  had  himself  heard  it  from  the  captain, — that 
the  supercargo  we  were  taking  with  us,  on  the  outward  voyage, 


THE   SEAFARING   MAN. 


343 


was  to  be  left  at  Truxillo,  and  that  another  supercargo  (also 
connected  with  our  firm,  and  latterly  employed  by  them  as  their 
foreign  agent)  was  to  ship  with  us  at  that  port  for  the  voyage 
home.  His  name  on  the  captain's  instructions  was  Mr.  Law- 
rence Clissold.  None  of  us  had  ever  set  eyes  on  him  to  our 
knowledge,  and  none  of  us  knew  more  about  him  than  what  I 
have  told  you  here. 

We  had  a  wonderful  voyage  out,  especially  round  the  Horn. 
I  never  before  saw  such  fair  weather  in  that  infernal  latitude, 
and  I  never  expect  to  see  the  like  again.  We  followed  our  in- 
structions to  the  letter,  discharging  our  cargo  in  fine  condition, 
and  returning  to  Truxillo  to  load  again  as  directed.  At  this 
place  I  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  seized  with  the  fever  of  the 
country,  which  laid  me  on  my  back,  while  we  were  in  harbour  ; 
and  which  only  let  me  return  to  my  duty  after  we  had  been  ten 
days  at  sea,  on  the  voyage  home  again.  For  this  reason,  the 
first  morning  when  I  was  able  to  get  on  deck  was  also  the  first 
time  of  my  setting  eyes  on  our  new  supercargo,  Mr.  Lawrence 
Clissold. 

I  found  him  to  be  a  long,  lean,  wiry  man,  with  some  com- 
plaint in  his  eyes  which  forced  him  to  wear  spectacles  of  blue 
glass.  His  age  appeared  to  be  fifty  six,  or  thereabouts  ;  but 
he  might  well  have  been  more.  There  was  not  above  a  hand- 
ful of  gray  hair,  altogether,  on  his  bald  head, — and  as  for  the 
wrinkles  at  the  corners  of  his  eyes  and  the  side  of  his  mouth, 
if  he  could  have  had  a  pound  apiece  in  his  pocket  for  every  one 
of  them,  he  might  have  retired  from  business  from  that  time 
forth.  Judging  by  certain  signs  in  his  face,  and  by  a  suspicious 
morning-tremble  in  his  hands,  1  set  him  down,  in  my  own  mmd 
(rightly  enough,  as  it  afterwards  turned  out),  for  a  drinker.  \\\ 
one  word,  I  didn't  like  the  looks  of  the  new  supercargo  ;  and, 
on  the  first  day  when  I  got  on  deck,  I  found  that  he  had  reasons 
of  his  own  for  paying  me  back  in  my  own  coin,  and  not  liking 
my  looks,  either. 

"  I've  been  asking  the  captain  about  you,"  were  his  first 
words  to  me  in  return  for  my  civilly  wishing  him  good-morning. 
"  You're  name's  Raybrock,  1  hear.  Are  you  any  relation  to 
the  late  Hugh  Raybrock,  of  Barnstaple,  Devonshire  ?  " 

"Rather  a  near  relation,"  I  made  answer.  "I  am  the  late 
Hugh  Raybrock's  eldest  son." 

There  was  no  telling  how  his  eyes  looked,  because  they  were 
hidden  by  his  blue  spectacles,  but  I  saw  him  wince  at  the 
mouth  when  I  gave  him  that  reply. 


344 


A   MESSAGE  FROM  THE  SEA. 


"Your  father  ended  by  failing  in  business  ;  didn't  he?"  was 
the  next  question  the  supercargo  put  to  me. 

"  Who  told  you  he  failed  ?  "  1   asked,  sharply  enough. 

"  Oh,  I  heard  it  !"  says  Mr.  Lawrence  Clissold,  both  looking 
and  speaking  as  if  he  was  glad  to  have  heard  it,  and  he  hoped 
it  was  true. 

"  Whoever  told  you  my  father  failed  in  business  told  you  a 
lie,"  I  said.  "  His  business  fell  off  towards  the  last  years  of 
his  life, — I  don't  deny  it.  But  every  creditor  he  had  was 
honestly  paid  at  his  death,  without  so  much  as  touching  the 
provision  left  for  his  widow  and  children.  Please  to  mention 
that  next  time  you  hear  it  reported  that  my  father  failed  in 
business." 

Mr.  Clissold  grinned  to  himself,  and  I  lost  my  temper. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  I  said  to  him,  "  I  don't  like  your  laugh- 
ing to  yourself  when  I  ask  you  to  do  justice  to  my  father's  mem- 
ory ;  and,  what  is  more,  I  didn't  like  the  way  you  mentioned 
that  report  of  his  failing  in  business,  just  now.  You  looked  as 
if  you  hoped  it  was  true." 

"Perhaps  I  did,"  says  Mr.  Clissold,  coolly.  "Shall  I  tell  you 
why  ?  When  I  was  a  young  man  I  was  unlucky  enough  to  owe 
your  father  some  money.  He  was  a  merciless  creditor,  and  he 
threatened  me  with  a  prison  if  the  debt  remained  unpaid  on  the 
day  when  it  was  due.  I  have  never  forgotten  that  circum- 
stance ;  and  I  should  certainly  not  have  been  sorry  if  your  father's 
creditors  had  given  him  a  lesson  in  forbearance,  by  treating 
him  as  harshly  as  he  once  treated  me." 

"  My  father  had  a  right  to  ask  for  his  own,"  I  broke  out. 
"  If  you  owed  him  the  money  and  didn't  pay  it — " 

"I  never  told  you  I  didn't  pay  it,"  says  Mr.  Clissold,  as 
coolly  as  ever. 

"  Well,  if  you  did  pay  it,"  I  put  in,  "  then  you  didn't  go  to 
prison,  and  you  have  no  cause  of  complaint  now.  My  father 
wronged  nobody  ;  and  I  won't  believe  he  ever  wronged  you. 
He  was  a  just  man  in  all  his  dealings;  and  whoever  tells  me 
to  the  contrary — " 

"  That  will  do,"  says  Mr.  Clissold,  backing  away  to  the  cabin 
stairs.  "You  seem  to  have  not  quite  got  over  your  fever  yet. 
I'll  leave  you  to  air  yourself  in  the  sea-breeze,  Mr.  Second 
Mate  ;  and  I'll  receive  your  excuses  when  you  are  cool  enough 
to  make  them." 

"  It  is  a  son's  business  to  defend  his  father's  character,"  I  an- 
swered ;  "and,  cool  or  hot,  I'll  leave  the  ship  sooner  than  ask 
your  pardon  for  doing  my  duty  ! " 


THE  SEAFARING  MAN. 


345 


"You  will  leave  the  ship  '  "  says  the  supercargo,  quietly  go- 
ing down  into  the  cabin.  "You  will  leave  at  the  next  port,  if 
I  have  any  interest  with  ihe  captain." 

That  was  how  Mr.  Clissold  and  I  scraped  acquaintance  on 
the  first  day  when  we  met  together  !  And  as  we  began,  so  we 
went  on  to  the  end.  But  though  he  persecuted  me  in  almost 
every  other  way,  he  did  not  anger  me  again  about  father's  af- 
faiis;  he  seemed  to  have  dropped  talking  of  them  at  once  and 
forever.  On  my  side  I  nevertheless  bore  in  mind  what  he  had 
said  to  me,  and  determined,  if  I  got  home  safe,  to  go  to  the 
lawyer  at  Barnstaple  who  keeps  father's  old  books  and  letters 
for  us,  and  see  what  information  they  might  give  on  the  subject 
of  Mr.  Lawrence  Clissold.  I  myself  had  never  heard  his  name 
mentioned  at  home, — father  (as  you  know,  Alfred)  being  always 
close  about  business-matters,  and  mother  never  troubling  him 
with  idle  questions  about  his  affairs.  But  it  was  likely  enough 
that  he  and  Mr.  Clissold  might  have  been  concerned  in  money- 
matters,  in  past  years,  and  that  Mr.  Clissold  might  have  tried 
to  cheat  him,  and  failed.  1  rather  hoped  it  might  prove  to  be 
so, — for  the  truth  is,  the  supercargo  provoked  me  past  all  en- 
durance, and  I  hated  him  as  heartily  as  he  hated  me. 

All  this  while  the  ship  was  making  such  a  speedy  voyage 
down  the  coast  that  we  began  to  think  we  were  carrying  back 
with  us  the  fine  weather  we  had  brought  out.  But  on  nearing 
Cape  Horn  the  signs  and  tokens  appeared  which  told  us  that 
our  run  of  luck  was  at  an  end.  Down  went  the  barometer, 
lower  and  lower;  and  up  got  the  wind  in  the  northerly  quarter, 
higher  and  higher.  This  happened  toward  nightfall,  and  at  day- 
break next  day  we  found  ourselves  forced  to  lay  to.  It  blew 
all  that  day  and  all  that  night ;  toward  noon  the  next  day  it 
lulled  a  little,  and  we  made  sail  again.  But  at  sunset  the  heav- 
ens grew  blacker  than  ever,  and  the  wind  returned  upon  us  with 
double  and  treble  fury.  The  Peruvian  was  a  fine,  stout,  roomy 
ship,  but  the  unhandiest  vessel  at  laying  to  I  ever  sailed  in. 
After  taking  tons  of  water  on  board  and  losing  our  best  boat, 
we  had  nothing  left  for  it  but  to  turn  tail  and  scud  for  our 
lives.  For  the  next  three  days  and  nights  we  ran  before  the 
wind.  The  gale  moderated  more  than  once  in  that  time,  but 
there  was  such  a  sea  on  that  we  durstn't  heave  the  ship  to. 
From  the  beginning  of  the  gale  none  of  us  officers  had  a  chance 
of  taking  any  observations.  We  only  knew  that  the  wind  was 
driving  us  as  hard  as  we  could  go  in  a  southerly  direction,  and 
that  we  were  by  this  time  hundreds  of  miles  out  of  the  ordinary 
course  of  ships  in  doubling  the  Cape. 
15* 


346 


A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 


On  the  third  night— or  rather,  I  should  say,  early  on  the  fourth 
morning — 1  went  below,  dead-beat,  to  get  a  little  rest,  leaving 
the  vessel  in  charge  of  the  captain  and  first  mate.  The  night 
was  then  pitch-dark, —  it  was  raining,  hailing,  and  sleeting  all  at 
once, — and  the  Peruvian  was  wallowing  in  the  frightful  seas, 
as  if  she  meant  to  roll  the  masts  out  of  her.  1  tumbled  into 
bed  the  instant  my  wet  oil-skins  were  oft*  my  back,  and  slept  as 
only  a  man  can  who  lays  himself  down  dead-beat. 

I  was  woke — how  long  afterward  1  don't  know — by  being 
pitched  clean  out  of  my  berth  on  to  the  cabin  floor  ;  and  at  the 
same  moment  I  heard  the  crash  of  the  ship's  timbers,  forward, 
which  told  me  it  was  all  over  with  us. 

Though  bruised  and  shaken  by  my  fall  I  was  on  deck  directly. 
Before  I  had  taken  two  steps  forward  the  Peruvian  forged 
ahead  on  the  send  of  the  sea,  swung  round  a  little,  and  struck 
heavily  at  the  bows  for  the  second  time.  The  shrouds  of  the 
foremast  cracked  one  after  another,  like  pistol-shots,  and  the 
mast  went  overboard.  I  next  felt  our  people  go  tearing  past 
me,  in  the  black  darkness,  to  the  lee-side  of  the  vessel ;  and  I 
knew  that  in  their  last  extremity  they  were  taking  to  the  boats. 
I  say  1  felt  them  go  past  me,  because  the  roaring  of  the  sea 
and  the  howling  of  the  wind  deafened  me,  on  deck,  as  com- 
pletely as  the  darkness  blinded  me.  1  myself  no  more  believed 
the  boats  would  live  in  the  sea  than  I  believed  the  ship  would 
hold  together  on  the  reef;  but  as  the  rest  were  running  the 
risk,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  run  it  with  them. 

But  before  I  followed  the  crew  to  leeward  I  went  below 
again  for  a  minute, — not  to  save  money  or  clothes,  for,  with 
death  staring  me  in  the  face,  neither  were  of  any  account  now, 
: — but  to  get  my  little  writing-case  which  mother  had  given  me 
at  parting.  A  curl  of  Margaret's  hair  was  in  the  pocket  inside 
it,  with  all  the  letters  she  had  sent  me  when  I  had  been  away 
on  other  voyages.  If  I  saved  anything  I  was  resolved  to  save 
this  ;  and  if  I  died,  I  would  die  with  it  about  me. 

My  locker  was  jammed  with  the  wrenching  of  the  ship,  and 
had  to  be  broken  open.  I  was,  maybe,  longer  over  this  job 
than.  I  myself  supposed.  At  any  rate,  when  1  got  on  deck  again 
with  my  case  in  my  breast,  it  was  useless  calling,  and  useless 
groping  about.  The  larger  of  the  two  boats,  when  I  felt  for  it, 
was  gone ;  and  every  soul  on  board  was  beyond  a  doubt  gone 
with  her. 

Before  I  had  time  to  think  I  was  thrown  off  my  feet  by 
another  sea  coming  on  board,  and  a  great  heave  of  the  vessel 
which  drove  her  farther  over  the  reef,  and  canted  the  after-part 


THE   SEAFARING   MAN. 


34; 


of  her  up  like  the  roof  of  a  house.  In  that  position  the  sterr 
stuck,  wedged  fast  into  the  rocks  beneath,  while  the  fore-part 
of  the  ship  was  all  to  pieces  and  down  under  water.  If  the 
after-part  kept  the  place  it  was  now  jammed  in  till  daylight  there 
might  be  a  chance,  but  if  the  sea  wrenched  it  out  from  between 
the  rocks  there  was  an  end  of  me.  After  straining  my  eyes  to 
discover  if  there  was  land  beyond  the  reef,  and  seeing  nothing 
but  the  flash  of  the  breakers,  like  white  fire  in  the  darkness,  I 
crawled  below  again  to  the  shelter  of  the  cabin  stairs  and  waited 
for  death  or  daylight. 

As  the  morning  hours  wore  on  the  weather  moderated  again,- 
and  the  after-part  of  the  vessel,  though  shaken  often,  was  not 
shaken  out  of  its  place.  A  little  before  dawn  the  winds  and 
the  waves,  though  fierce  enough  still,  allowed  me  at  last  to  hear 
something  besides  themselves.  What  I  did  hear,  crouched  up  in 
my  dark  corner,  was  a  heavy  thumping  and  grinding,  every  now 
and  then,  against  the  side  of  the  ship  to  windward.  Day  broke 
soon  afterward,  and  when  I  climbed  to  the  deck  I  clawed  my 
way  up  to  windward  first  to  see  what  the  noise  was  caused  by. 

My  first  look  over  the  bulwark  showed  me  that  it  was  caused 
by  the  boat  which  my  unfortunate  brother-officers  and  the  crew 
had  launched  and  gone  away  in  when  the  ship  struck.  The 
boat  was  bottom  upward,  thumping  against  the  ship's  side  on 
the  lift  of  the  sea.  I  wanted  no  second  look  at  it  to  tell  me 
that  every  mother's  son  of  them  was  drowned. 

The  main  and  mizzen  masts  still  stood.  I  got  into  the  miz- 
zen-rigging  to  look  out  next  to  leeward, — and  there,  in  the 
blessed  daylight,  I  saw  a  low,  green,  rocky  little  island,  lying 
away  beyond  the  reef,  barely  a  mile  distant  from  the  ship  ! 
My  life  began  to  look  of  some  small  value  to  me  again  when  I 
saw  land.  I  got  higher  up  in  the  rigging  to  note  how  the  cur- 
rent set,  and  where  there  might  be  a  passage  through  the  reef. 
The  ship  had  driven  over  the  rocks  through  the  worst  of  the 
surf,  and  the  sea  between  myself  and  the  island,  though  angry 
and  broken  in  places,  was  not  too  high  for  a  lost  man  like  me 
to  venture  on,  provided  I  could  launch  the  last  and  smallest 
boat  still  left  in  the  vessel.  I  noted  carefully  the  likeliest-look- 
ing channel  for  trying  the  experiment,  and  then  got  down  on 
deck  again  to  see  what  I  could  do,  first  of  all,  with  the  boat. 

At  the  moment  when  my  feet  touched  the  deck  I  heard  a 
dull  knocking  and  banging  just  under  them,  in  the  region  of 
the  cabin.  When  the  sound  first  reached  my  ears  I  got  such  a 
shock  of  surprise  that  1  could  neither  move  nor  speak.  It  had. 
never  vet  crossed  my  mind  that  a  single  soul  was  left  in  the 


348 


A   MESSAGE   FROM   THE   SEA. 


vessel  besides  myself;  but  now  there  was  something  in  the 
knocking  noise  which  started  the  hope  in  me,  that  I  was  not 
alone.     I  shook  myself  up,  and  got  down  directly. 

The  noise  came  from  inside  one  of  the  sleeping-berths,  on 
the  far  side  of  the  main  cabin  ;  the  door  of  which  was  jammed, 
no  doubt,  just  as  my  locker  had  been  jammed,  by  the  wrenching 
of  the  ship.  "Who's  there?"  I  called  out.  A  faint  muffled 
kind  of  voice  answered  something  through  the  air-grating  in  the 
upper  part  of  the  door.  I  got  up  on  the  overthrown  cabin 
furniture  ;  and,  looking  in  through  the  trellis-work  of  the  grat- 
ing, found  myself  face  to  face  with  the  blue  spectacles  of  Mr. 
Lawrence  Clissold,  looking  out ! 

God  forgive  me  for  thinking  it,  but  there  was  not  a  man  in 
the  vessel  I  wouldn't  sooner  have  found  alive  in  her  than  Mr. 
Clissold  !  Of  all  that  ship's  company,  we  two,  who  were  least 
friendly  together,  were  the  only  two  saved. 

I  had  a  belter  chance  of  breaking  out  the  jammed  door  from 
the  main  cabin  than  he  had  from  the  berth  inside  ;  and  in  less 
than  five  minutes  he  was  set  free.  I  had  smelled  spirits 
already  through  the  air-grating,  and  now,  when  he  and  I 
stood  face  to  face,  I  saw  what  the  smell  meant.  There  was 
an  open  case  of  spirits  by  the  bedside, — two  of  the  bottles 
out  of  it  were  lying  broken  on  the  floor,— and  Mr.  Clissold 
was  drunk. 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  ship  ?  "  says  he,  looking  fierce, 
and  speaking  thick. 

"You  shall  see  for  yourself,"  says  I.  With  which  words  I 
took  hold  of  him,  and  pulled  him  after  me  up  the  cabin  stairs. 
I  reckoned  on  the  sight  that  would  meet  him,  when  he  first 
looked  over  the  deck  to  sober  his  drunken  brains, — and  I  reck- 
oned right ;  he  fell  on  his  knees,  stock  still  and  speechless  as  if 
he  was  turned  to  stone. 

I  lashed  him  up  safe  to  the  cabin  rail,  and  left  it  to  the  air  to 
bring  him  round.  He  had,  likely  enough,  been  drinking  in  the 
sleeping-berth  for  days  together, — for  none  of  us,  as  I  now 
remembered,  had  seen  him  since  the  gale  set  in, — and  even  if 
he  had  had  sense  enough  to  try  to  get  out,  or  to  call  for  help, 
when  the  ship  struck,  he  would  not  have  made  himself  heard 
in  the  noise  and  confusion  of  that  awM  time.  But  for  the  lull 
in  the  weather  1  should  not  have  htmrd  him  myself  when  he 
attempted  to  get  free  in  the  morning.  Enemy  of  mine  as  he 
was,  he  had  a  pair  of  arms, — aixLUe  was  worth  untold  gold,  in 
ivy  situation,  for  t  h  a  tr  easou^w  i  th  the  help  I  could  make 
him  give  me,Ji*ere"""*was    no  doubt    now  about  launching  the 


THE   SEAFARING   MAM. 


349 


boat.  In  half  an  hour  I  had  the  means  ready  for  trying  the  ex- 
periment ;  and  Mr.  Clissold  was  sober  enough  to  see  that  his  life 
depended  on  his  doing  what  I  told  him. 

The  sky  looked  angry  still, — there  was  no  opening  anywhere, 
— and  the  clouds  were  slowly  banking  up  again  to  windward. 
The  supercargo  knew  what  I  meant  when  I  pointed  that  way, 
and  worked  with  a  will  when  I  gave  him  the  word.  I  had 
previously  stowed  away  in  the  boat  such  stores  of  meat,  biscuit, 
and  fresh  water  as  I  could  readily  lay  hands  on  ;  together  with 
a  compass,  a  lantern,  a  few  candles,  and  some  boxes  of  matches 
in  my  pocket,  to  kindle  light  and  fire  with.  At  the  last  mo- 
ment I  thought  of  a  gun  and  some  powder  and  shot.  The  pow- 
der and  shot  I  found,  and  an  old  flint  pocket-pistol  in  the  cap- 
tain's cabin, — with  which,  for  fear  of  wasting  precious  time,  I 
was  forced  to  be  content.  The  pistol  lay  on  the  top  of  the 
medicine-chest,  and  I  took  that  also,  finding  it  handy,  and  not 
knowing  but  what  it  might  be  of  use.  Having  made  these  prep- 
arations, we  launched  the  boat  down  the  steep  of  the  deck, 
into  the  water  over  the  forward  part  of  the  ship  which  was  sunk. 
I  took  the  oars,  ordering  Mr.  Clissold  to  sit  still  in  the  stern- 
sheets,  and  pulled  for  the  island. 

It  was  neck  or  nothing  with  us  more  than  once,  before  we 
were  two  hundred  yards  from  the  ship.  Luckily  the  supercargo 
was  used  to  boats  ;  and  muddled  as  he  still  was,  he  had  sense 
enough  to  sit  quiet.  We  found  our  way  into  the  smooth  chan- 
nel which  I  had  noted  from  the  mizzen-rigging,  after  which  it 
was  easy  enough  to  get  ashore. 

We  landed  on  a  little  sandy  creek.  From  the  time  of  our 
leaving  the  ship  the  supercargo  had  not  spoken  a  word  to  me. 
nor  I  to  him.  I  now  told  him  to  lend  a  hand  in  getting  the 
stores  out  of  the  boat,  and  in  helping  me  to  carry  them  to  the 
first  sheltered  place  we  could  find  in-shore  on  the  inland.  He 
shook  himself  up  with  a  sulky  look  at  me,  anil  did  as  I  had 
bidden  him.  We  found  a  little  dip,  or  dell,  in  the  ground,  after 
getting  up  the  low  sides  of  the  island,  which  was  sheltered  to 
windward, — and  here  I  left  him  to  stowaway  the  stores  while  1 
walked  farther  on  to  survey  the  place. 

According  to  the  hasty  judgment  I  formed  at  the  time,  the 
island  was  not  a  mile  across,  and  not  much  more  than  three 
miles  round.  I  noted  nothing  in  the  way  of  food  but  a  few  wild 
roots  and  vegetables,  growing  in  ragged  patches  amidst  the  thick 
scrub  which  covered  the  place.  There  was  not  a  tree  on  it 
anywhere,  nor  any  living  creatures,  nor  any  signs  of  fresh  water 
that  I  could  see.     Standing  on  the  highest  ground,  I  looked 


35o 


A  massage  from  the  sea. 


about  anxiously  for  other  islands  that  might  be  inhabited; 
there  were  none  visible, — at  least  none  in  the  hazy  state  of  the 
heavens  that  morning.  When  I  fairly  discovered  what  a  desert 
the  place  was;  when  I  remembered  how  far  it  lay  out  of  Hie 
track  of  ships  ;  and  when  I  thought  of  the  small  store  of  provi- 
sions which  we  had  brought  with  us,  the  doubt  lest  we  might 
only  have  changed  the  chance  of  death  by  drowning  for  the 
chance  of  death  by  starvation  was  so  strong  in  me  that  I  deter- 
mined to  go  back  to  the  boat,  with  the  desperate  notion  of 
making  another  trip  to  the  vessel  for  water  and  food.  I  say 
desperate,  because  the  clouds  to  windward  were  banking  up 
blacker  and  higher  every  minute.  The  wind  was  freshening  al- 
ready, and  there  was  every  sign  of  the  storm  coming  on  again 
wilder  and  fiercer  than  ever. 

Mr.  Clissold,  when  I  passed  him  on  my  way  back  to  the 
beach,  had  got  the  stores  pretty  tidy,  covered  with  the  tarpaulin 
which  I  had  thrown  over  them  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  Just 
as  I  looked  down  at  him  in  the  hollow,  I  saw  him  take  a  bottle 
of  spirits  out  of  the  pocket  of  his  pilot-coat.  He  must  have 
stowed  the  bottle  away  there,  as  I  suppose,  while  I  was  break- 
ing open  the  door  of  his  berth.  "  You'll  be  drowned,  and  I 
shall  have  double  allowance  to  live  upon  here,"  was  all  he  said 
to  me  when  he  heard  I  was  going  back  to  the  ship.  "Yes! 
and  die,  in  your  turn,  when  you've  got  through  it,"  says  I, 
going  away  to  the  boat.  It's  shocking  to  think  of  now,  but  we 
couldn't  be  civil  to  each  other,  even  on  the  first  day  when  we 
were  wrecked  together  ! 

Having  previously  stripped  to  my  trousers,  in  case  of  acci- 
dent, I  now  pulled  out.  On  getting  from  the  channel  into  the 
broken  water  again,  I  looked  over  my  shoulder  to  windward, 
and  saw  that  I  was  too  late.  It  was  coming  ! — the  ship  was 
hidden  already  in  the  horrible  haze  of  it.  I  got  the  boat's  head 
round  to  pull  back — and  I  did  pull  back,  just  insiue  the  opening 
in  the  reef  which  made  the  mouth  of  the  channel — when  the 
storm  came  down  on  me  like  death  and  judgment.  The  boat 
filled  in  an  instant,  and  I  was  tossed  head  over  heels  into  the 
water.  The  sea,  which  burst  into  raging  surf  upon  the  rock  on 
either  side,  rushed  in  one  great  roller  up  the  deep  channel  be- 
tween them,  and  took  me  with  it.  If  the  under-tow  afterward 
had  lasted  for  half  a  minute,  I  should  have  been  carried  into 
the  white  water  and,  lost.  But  a  second  roller  followed  the  fust, 
almost  on  the  instant,  and  swept  me  right  up  on  the  beach.  I 
had  just  strength  enough  to  dig  my  arms  and  legs  well  into  the 
wet  sand  ;  and  though  I  was  taken  back  with  the  backward 


THE   SEAFARING   MAM. 


351 


shift  of  it,  I  was  not  taken  into  deep  water  again.  Before  the 
third  roller  came  I  was  out  of  its  reach,  and  was  down  in  a  sort 
of  swoon  on  the  dry  sand. 

When  I  got  back  to  the  hollow  in  shore,  where  I  had  left  my 
clothes  under  shelter  with  the  stores,  I  found  Mr.  Clissold 
snugly  crouched  up,  in  the  driest  place,  with  the  tarpaulin  to 
cover  him.  "  Oh  ! "  says  he,  in  a  state  of  great  surprise, 
"you're  not  drowned?"  "No,"  says  I  ;  "you  won't  get  your 
double  allowance  after  all."  "  How  much  shall  I  get?"  says 
he,  rousing  up  and  looking  anxious.  "Your  fair  half-share  of 
what  is  here,"  I  answered  him.  "'  And  how  long  will  that  last 
me?"  says  he.  "The  food,  if  you  have  sense  enough  to  eke 
it  out  with  what  you  may  find  in  this  miserable  place,  barely 
three  weeks,"  says  I;  "  and  the  water  (if  you  ever  drink  any) 
about  a  fortnight."  At  hearing  that,  he  took  the  bottle  out  of 
his  pocket  again,  and  put  it  to  his  lips.  "  I'm  cold  to  the 
bones,"  says  I,  frowning  at  him  for  a  drop.  "And  I'm  warm 
to  the  marrow,"  says  he,  chuckling,  and  handing  me  the  bottle 
empty.  I  pitched  it  away  at  once, — or  the  temptation  to  break 
it  over  his  head  might  have  been  too  much  for  me, — I  pitched 
it  away,  and  looked  into  the  medicine-chest  to  see  if  there  was 
a  drop  of  peppermint,  or  anything  comforting  of  that  sort, 
inside.  Only  three  physic  bottles  were  left  in  it,  all  three  being 
neatly  tied  over  with  oil-skin.  One  of  them  held  a  strong 
white  liquor,  smelling  like  hartshorn.  The  other  two  were 
filled  with  stuff  in  powder,  having  the  names  in  printed  gibber- 
ish pasted  outside.  On  looking  a  little  closer,  I  found  under 
some  broken  divisions  of  the  chest,  a  small  flask  covered  with 
wicker-work.  "Ginger-Brandy,"  was  written  with  pen  and  ink 
on  the  wicker-work,  and  the  flask  was  full !  I  think  that 
blessed  discovery  saved  me  from  shivering  myself  to  pieces. 
After  a  pull  at  the  flask  which  made  a  new  man  of  me,  I  put  it 
away  in  my  inside  breast-pocket ;  Mr.  Clissold  watching  me  with 
greedy  eyes,  but  saying  nothing. 

All  this  while  the  rain  was  rushing,  the  wind  roaring,  and  the 
sea  crashing,  as  if  Noah's  Flood  had  come  again.  I  sat  close 
against  the  supercargo,  because  he  was  in  the  driest  place,  and 
pulled  my  fair  share  of  the  tarpaulin  away  from  him,  whether 
he  liked  it  or  not.  He  by  no  means  liked  it ;  being  in  that 
sort  of  half-drunken,  half-sober  state  (after  finishing  his  bottle), 
in  which  a  man's  temper  is  most  easily  upset  by  trifles.  The 
upset  of  his  temper  showed  itself  in  the  way  of  small  aggrava- 
tions, of  which  I  took  no  notice,  till  he  suddenly  bethought 
himself  of  angering  me  by  going  back  again  to  that  dispute  about 


352 


A    MESSAGE   FROM    THE   SEA. 


father,  which  had  bred  ill-blood  between  us  on  the  day  when 
we  first  saw  each  other.  If  he  had  been  a  younger  man,  I  am 
afraid  I  should  have  stopped  him  by  a  punch  on  the  head.  As 
it  was,  considering  his  age  and  the  shame  of  this  quarrelling 
betwixt  us  when  we  were  both  cast  away  together,  I  only  warned 
him  that  I  might  punch  his  head  if  he  went  on.  It  did  just  as 
well,  and  I'm  glad  now  to  think  that  it  did. 

We  were  huddled  so  close  together  that  when  he  coiled  him- 
self up  to  sleep  (with  a  growl),  and  when  he  did  go  to  sleep  (with 
a  grunt),  he  growled  and  grunted  into  my  ear.  His  rest,  like 
the  rest  of  all  the  regular  drunkards  I  have  ever  met  with,  was 
broken.  He  ground  his  teeth,  and  talked  in  his  sleep.  Among 
the  words  he  mumbled  to  himself  I  heard,  as  plain  as  could  be, 
father's  name.  This  vexed,  but  did  not  surprise  me,  seeing 
that  he  had  talked  of  father  before  he  dropped  off.  But  when 
1  made  out  next,  among  his  mutterings  and  mumblings,  the 
words  "  five  hundred  pound,"  spoken  over  and  over  again,  with 
father's  name,  now  before,  now  after,  now  mixed  in  along  with 
them,  I  got  curious,  and  listened  for  more.  My  listening  (and 
serve  me  right,  you  will  say)  came  to  nothing  ;  he  certainly 
talked  on,  but  I  couldn't  make  out  a  word  more  that  he  said. 

When  he  woke  up,  I  told  him  plainly  he  had  been  talking  in 
his  sleep  ;  and  mightily  taken  aback  he  looked  when  he  first 
heard  it.  "What  about?"  says  he.  I  made  answer,  "My 
father,  and  five  hundred  pound  ;  and  'how  do  you  come  to  couple 
them  together,  I  should  like  to  know?"  "I  couldn't  have 
coupled  them,"  says  he,  in  a  great  hurry  ;  "  what  do  I  know 
about  it?  I  don't  believe  a  man  like  your  father  ever  had 
such  a  sttm  of  money  as  that  in  all  his  life."  "Don't  you?" 
says  I,  feeling  the  aggravation  of  him,  in  spite  of  myself;  "  I 
can  just  tell  you  my  father  had  such  a  sum  when  he  was  no  older 
a  man  than  I  am, — and  saved  it, — and  left  it  for  a  provision,  in 
his  will  to  my  mother,  who  has  got  it  .jow,— and,  I  say  again, 
how  camp  a  stranger  like  you  to  be  talking  of  it  in  your  sleep  ?  " 
At  hearing  this,  he  went  about  on  the  other  tack  directly. 
"  Was  that  all  your  father  left  after  his  debts  were  paid  ?  "  says 
he.  "Are  you  very  curious  to  know?"  says  I.  He  took  no 
notice, — he  only  persisted  with  his  question.  "  Was  it  just  five 
hundred  pound,  no  more  and  no  less  ?  "  says  he.  "  Suppose  it 
vvas,"  says  I ;  "what  then?"  "  O,  nothing!"  says  he,  and 
turns  sharp  round  from  me  and  chuckles  to  himself.  "You're 
drunk  !  "  says  I.  "  Yes,"  says  he  ;  "  that's  it, — stick  to  that, — 
I'm  drunk," — and  he  chuckles  again.  Try  as  I  might,  and 
threaten  as  I  might,  not  another  word  on  the  matter  of  the  five 


THE   SEAFARING  MAA, 


353 


hundred  pound  could  I  get  from  him.  I  bore  it  well  in  mind, 
though,  for  all  that, — it  being  one  of  my  slow  ways  not  easily  to 
forget  anything  that  had  once  surprised  me,  and  not  to  give  up 
returning  to  it  over  and  over  again  as  time  and  occasion  may 
serve  for  the  purpose. 

The  hours  wore  on,  and  the  storm  raged  on.  We  had  our 
half-rations  of  food  when  hunger  took  us  (I  being  much  the 
hungrier  of  the  two)  ;  and  slept,  and  grumbled,  and  quarrelled 
the  weary  time  out  somehow.  Toward  dusk  the  wind  lessened, 
and  when  I  got  tip  out  of  the  hollow  to  look  out  there  was  a 
faint  watery  break  in  the  western  heavens.  At  times,  through 
the  watches  of  the  long  night,  the  stars  showed  in  patches  for  a 
little  while  through  the  rents  that  opened  and  closed  by  fits  in 
the  black  sky.  When  I  fell  asleep  toward  the  dawning  the  wind 
had  fallen  to  a  moan,  though  the  sea,  slower  to  go  down, 
sounded  as  loud  as  ever.  From  what  1  could  make  of  the 
weather,  the  storm  had  by  that  time  as  good  as  blown  itself  out. 

I  had  been  wise  enough  (knowing  who  was  near  me)  to  lay 
myself  down,  whenever  1  slept,  on  the  side  of  me  which  was 
next  to  the  flask  of  ginger-brandy  stowed  away  in  my  breast- 
pocket. When  I  awoke  at  sunrise  it  was  the  supercargo's  hand 
that  roused  me  up,  trying  to  steal  my  flask  while  1  was  asleep. 
I  rolled  him  over  headlong  among  the  stores,  out  of  which  I 
had  the  humanity  to  pull  him  again  with  my  own  hands. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  says  I,  "if  us  two  keep  company  any 
longer  we  shan't  get  on  smoothly  together.  You're  the  oldest 
man  ;  and  you  stop  here,  where  we  know  there  is  shelter.  We 
will  divide  the  stores  fairly,  and  I'll  go  and  shift  for  myself  at 
the  other  end  of  the  island.     Do  you  agree  to  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  says  he  ;   "  and  the  sooner  the  better." 

I  left  him  for  a  minute,  and  went  away  to  look  out  on  the 
reef  that  had  wrecked  us.  The  splinters  of  the  Peruvian  scat- 
tered broadcast  over  the  beach,  or  tossing  up  and  down  darkly, 
far  out  in  the  white  surf,  were  all  that  remained  to  tell  of  the 
ship.  I  don't  deny  that  my  heart  sank  when  I  looked  at  the 
place  where  she  struck,  and  saw  nothing  before  me  but  sea  and 
sky. 

But  what  was  the  use  of  standing  and  looking  ?  It  was  a 
deal  better  to  rouse  myself  by  doing  something.  I  returned  to 
Mr.  Clissold,  and  then  and  there  divided  the  stores  into  two 
equal  parts,  including  everything  down  to  the  matches  in  my 
pocket.  Of  these  parts  I  gave  him  first  choice.  I  also  left  him 
the  whole  of  the  tarpaulin  to  himself,  keeping  in  my  own  posses- 
sion the  medicine-chest  and  the  pistol  ;  which  last  I  loaded  with 


354  A    MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

powder  and  shut,  in  case  any  sea-birds  might  fly  within  reach. 
When  the  division  was  made,  and  when  I  had  moved  my  part 
out  of  his  way  and  out  of  his  sight,  I  thought  it  uncivil  to  bear 
malice  any  longer  now  that  we  had  agreed  to  separate.  We 
were  cast  away  on  a  desert  island,  and  we  had  death,  as  well  as 
I  could  see,  within  about  three  weeks'  hail  of  us  ;  but  that  was 
no  reason  for  not  making  things  reasonably  pleasant  as  long  as 
we  could.  I  was  some  time  (in  consequence  of  my  natural 
slowness  where  matters  of  seafaring  duty  don't  happen  to  be 
concerned)  before  I  came  to  this  conclusion.  When  I  did 
come  to  it,  I  acted  on  it. 

"  Shake  hands  before  parting,"  I  said,  suiting  the  action  to 
the  word. 

"  No  !  "  says  he,  "  I  don't  like  you." 

"  Please  yourself,"  says  I  ;  and  so  we  parted. 

Turning  my  back  on  the  west,  which  was  his  territory  accord- 
ing to  agreement,  I  walked  away  toward  the  southeast,  where  the 
sides  of  the  island  rose  highest.  Here  1  found  a  sort  of  half- 
rift,  half-cavern,  in  the  rocky  banks,  which  looked  as  likely  a 
place  as  any  other  ;  and  to  this  refuge  I  moved  my  share  of  the 
stores.  I  thatched  it  over,  as  well  as  I  could,  with  scrub,  and 
heaped  up  some  loose  stones  at  the  mouth  of  it.  At  home  in 
England  I  should  have  been  ashamed  to  put  my  dog  in  such  a 
place  ;  but  when  a  man  believes  his  days  to  be  numbered  he  is 
not  over-particular  about  his  lodgings,  and  I  was  not  over-par- 
ticular about  mine. 

When  mv  work  was  done  the  heavens  were  fair,  the  sun  was 
shining,  and  it  was  long  past  noon.  I  went  up  again  to  the 
high  ground,  to  see  what  I  could  make  out  in  the  new  clearness 
of  the  air.  North,  east,  and  west  there  was  nothing  but  sea 
and  sky  ;  but  south  I  now  saw  land.  It  was  high,  and  looked 
to  be  a  matter  of  seven  or  eight  miles  off.  Island  or  not,  it 
must  have  been  of  a  good  size  for  me  to  see  it  as  I  did.  Known 
or  not  known  to  mariners,  it  was  certainly  big  enough  to  have 
living  creatures  on  it, — animals  or  men,  or  both.  If  I  had  not 
lost  the  boat  in  my  second  attempt  to  reach  the  vessel  we 
might  have  easily  got  to  it.  But  situated  as  we  were  now,  with 
no  wood  to  make  a  boat  of  but  the  scattered  splinters  from  the 
ship,  and  with  no  tools  to  use  even  that  much,  there  might  just 
as  well  have  been  no  land  in  sight  at  all,  so  far  as  we  were  con- 
cerned. The  poor  hope  of  a  ship  coming  our  road  was  still  the 
only  hope  left.  To  give  us  ail  the  little  chance  we  might  get 
that  way,  I  now  looked  about  on  the  beach  for  the  longest  mor- 
sel of  a  wrecked  spar  that  I  could  find,  planted  it  on  the  high 


THE   SEAFARING   MAN. 


355 


ground,  and  rigged  up  to  it  the  one  shirt  I  had  .on  my  back  for 
a  signal.  While  coining  and  going  on  this  job,  I  noted  with 
great  joy  that  rain-water  enough  lav  in  the  hollows  of  the  rocks 
above  the  sea-line  to  save  our  small  store  of  fresh  water  for  a 
week  at  least.  Thinking  it  only  fair  to  the  supercargo  to  let 
him  know  what  I  had  found  out,  1  went  to  his  territories,  after 
setting  up  the  morsel  of  a  spar,  and  discreetly  shouted  my  news 
down  to  him  without  showing  myself.  "Keep  to  your  own 
side  !  "  was  all  the  thanks  I  got  for  ihis  piece  of  civility.  I  went 
back  to  my  own  side  immediately,  and  crawled  in  to  my  little 
cavern,  quite  content  to  be  alone.  On  that  first  night,  strange 
as  it  seems  now,  I  once  or  twice  nearly  caught  myself  feeling 
happy  at  the  thought  of  being  rid  of  Mr.  Lawrence  Clissold. 

According  to  my  calculations, — which  were  made  by  tying  a 
fresh  knot  every  morning  in  a  piece  of  marline, — we  two  men 
were  just  a  week,  each  on  his  own  side  of  the  island,  without 
seeing  or  communicating,  anyhow,  with  one  another.  The  first 
half  of  the  week  I  had  enough  to  do  with  cudgelling  my  brains 
for  a  means  of  helping  ourselves,  to  keep  my  mind  steady. 

I  thought  first  of  picking  up  all  the  longest  bits  of  spars  that 
had  been  cast  ashore,  lashing  them  together  with  ropes  twisted 
out  of  the  long  grass  on  the  island,  and  trusting  to  raft-naviga- 
tion to  get  to  that  high  land  away  in  the  south.  But  when  I 
looked  among  the  spars,  there  were  not  half  a  dozen  of  them 
left  whole  enough  for  the  purpose.  And  even  if  there  had  been 
more,  the  short  allowance  of  food  would  not  have  given  me 
time  sufficient,  or  strength  sufficient,  to  gather  the  grass,  to  twist 
it  into  ropes,  and  to  lash  a  raft  together  big  enough  and  strong 
enough  for  us  two  men.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to 
give  up  this  notion, — and  I  gave  it  up.  The  next  chance  I 
thought  of  was  to  keep  a  fire  burning  on  the  shore  every  night, 
with  the  wood  of  the  wreck,  in  case  vessels  at  sea  might  notice 
it  on  one  side,  or  the  people  of  the  high  land  in  the  south  (if  the 
distance  was  not  too  great)  might  notice  it  on  the  other.  There 
was  sense  in  this  notion,  and  it  could  be  turned  to  account  the 
moment  the  wood  was  dry  enough  to  burn.  The  wood  got  dry 
enough  before  the  week  was  out.  Whether  it  was  the  end  of 
the  stormy  season  in  those  latitudes,  or  whether  it  was  only  the 
shifting  of  the  wind  to  the  west,  I  don't  know  ;  but  now,  day 
after  day,  the  heavens  were  clear,  and  the  sun  shone  scorching 
hot.  The  scrub  on  the  island  (which  was  of  no  great  account) 
dried  up,  but  the  fresh  water  in  the  hollows  of  the  rocks  (which 
was,  on  the  other  hand,  a  serious  business)  dried  up  too. 
Troubles  seldom  come  alone  ;  and  on  the  day  when   I  made 


356 


A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE   SEA. 


this  discovery  I  also  found  out  that  I  had  calculated  wrong 
about  the  food.  Eke  it  out  as  I  might,  with  scurvy  grass  and 
roots,  there  would  not  be  above  eight  days  more  of  it  left  when 
the  fiist  week  was  past  ;  and  as  for  the  fresh  water,  half  a  pint 
a  day,  unless  more  rain  fell,  would  leave  me  at  the  end  of  my 
store,  as  nearly  as  I  could  guess,  about  the  same  time. 

This  was  a  bad  look-out,  but  I  don't  think  the  prospect  of  it 
upset  me  in  my  mind  so  much  as  the  having  nothing  to  do, 
Except  for  the  gathering  of  the  wood,  and  the  lighting  of  the 
signal-fire  every  night,  1  had  no  work  at  all  toward  the  end  of 
the  week  to  keep  me  steady.  I  checked  myself  in  thinking 
much  about  home,  for  fear  of  losing  heart,  and  not  holding  out 
to  the  last,  as  became  a  man.  For  the  same  reasons  I  likewise 
kept  my  mind  from  raising  hopes  of  help  in  me  which  were  not 
likely  to  come  true.  What  else  was  there  to  think  about? 
Nothing  but  the  man  on  the  other  side  of  the  island, — and  be 
hanged  to  him  ! 

I  thought  about  those  words  I  heard  him  say  in  his  sleep  ;  I 
thought  about  how  he  was  getting  on  by  himself;  how  he 
liked  nothing  but  water  to  drink,  and  little  enough  of  that  ;  how 
he  was  eking  out  his  food  ;  whether  he  slept  much  or  not  ; 
whether  he  saw  the  smoke  of  my  fire  at  night  or  not ;  whether 
he  held  up  better  or  worse  than  I  did  ;  whether  he  would  be 
glad  to  see  me  if  I  went  to  him  to  make  it  up  ;  whether  he  or 
I  would  die  first  ;  whether  if  it  was  me,  he  would  do  for  me 
what  I  would  have  done  for  him,  namely,  bury  him,  with  the  last 
strength  I  had  left.  All  these  things,  and  lots  more,  kept  coin- 
ing and  going  in  my  mind,  till  I  could  stand  it  no  longer,  On 
the  morning  of  the  eighth  day  I  roused  up  to  go  to  his  territo- 
ries, feeling  it  would  do  me  good  to  see  him  and  hear  him,  even 
if  we  quarrelled  again  the  instant  we  set  eyes  on  each  other. 

I  climbed  up  to  the  grassy  ground  ;  and  when  I  got  there, 
what  should  I  see  but  the  supercargo  himself  coming  to  my  ter- 
ritories, and  wandering  up  and  down  in  the  scrub  through  not 
knowing  where  to  find  them  ! 

It  almost  kicked  me  over,  when  we  met,  the  man  was 
changed  so.  He  looked  eighty  years  old  :  the  little  flesh  he  had 
on  his  miserable  face  hung  baggy;  his  blue  spectacles  had 
dropped  down  on  his  nose,  and  his  eyes  showed  over  them  wild 
and  red-brimmed  ;  his  lips  were  black  ;  his  legs  staggered  under 
him.  He  came  up  to  me  with  his  eyes  all  of  a  glare,  and  put 
both  his  hands  on  my  breast,  just  over  the  pocket  in  which  I 
kept  that  flask  of  ginger-brandy  which  he  had  tried  to  steal  from 
me. 


THE   SEAFARING  MAN. 


357 


"  Have  you  got  any  of  it  left  ?  "  says  he,  in  a  whisper. 

"  About  two  mouthfuls,"  says  I. 

"  Give  us  one  of  them,  for  God's  sake,"  says  he. 

Giving  him  one  of  those  mouthfuls  was  just  about  equal 
to  giving  him  a  day  of  my  life.  In  the  case  of  a  man  I 
liked,  I  would  not  have  thought  twice  about  giving  it.  In 
the  case  of  Mr.  Clissold  I  did  think  twice.  I  would  have 
been  a  better  Christian  if  I  could,  but  just  then   I   couldn't. 

He  thought  I  was  going  to  say  No.  His  eyes  got  cunning 
directly.  He  reached  his  hand  to  my  shoulders,  and  whispered 
these  words  in  my  ear  : 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  know  about  the  five  hundred  pound  if 
you'll  give  me  a  drop." 

I  determined  to  give  it  to  him,  and  pulled  out  the  flask.  I 
took  his  hand,  and  poured  the  drop  into  the  hollow  of  it,  and 
held  it  for  a  moment. 

"  Tell  me  first,"  I   said,  "  and  drink  afterwards." 

He  looked  all  around  him,  as  if  he  thought  there  were  peo- 
ple on  the  island  to  hear  us.  "  Hush  !  "  he  said  ;  "  let's  whis- 
per about  it."  The  next  question  and  answer  that  passed  be- 
tween us  was  louder  than  before  on  my  side,  and  softer  than 
ever  on  his.     This  was  the  question, — 

"  What  do  you  know  about  the  five  hundred  pound  ?  " 

And  this  was  the  answer, — 

"It's  Stolen  Money/" 

My  hand  dropped  away  from  his  as  if  he  had  shot  me.  He 
instantly  fastened  on  the  drop  of  liquor  in  the  hollow  of  his 
hand,  like  a  hungry  wild  beast  on  a  bone,  and  then  looked  up 
for  more.  Something  in  my  face  (God  knows  what)  seemed 
suddenly  to  frighten  him  out  of  his  life.  Before  I  could  stir  a 
step,  or  get  a  word  out,  down  he  dropped  on  his  knees,  whin- 
ing and  whimpering  in  the  high  grass  at  my  feet. 

"Don't  kill  me  !"  says  he;  "I'm  dying, — I'll  think  of  my 
poor  soul.      I'll  repent  while  there's  time — " 

Beginning  in  that  way,  he  maundered  awfully-  grovelling  down 
in  the  grass  ;  asking  me  every  other  minute  for  "  a  drop  more, 
and  a  drop  more  "  ;  and  talking  as  if  he  thought  we  were  both  in 
England.  Out  of  his  wanderings,  his  beseechings  for  another 
drop,  and  his  miserable  beggar's  petitions  for  his  "poor  soul," 
I  gathered  together  these  words, — the  same  which  I  wrote  down 
on  the  morsel  of  paper,  and  of  which  nine  parts  out  of  ten  are 
now  ruobed  off! 

The  first  I  made  out — though  not  the  first  he  said — was  that 
?ome  one,  whom   he  spoke  of  as  "  the  old  man,"  was  alive  f 


358  A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

and  "  Lanrean  "  was  the  place  he  lived  in.  I  was  to  go  there, 
and  ask  among  the  old  men,  for  "  Tregarthen — " 

(At  the  mention  by  me  of  the  name  of  Tregarthen,  my 
Ijrdther,  to  my  great  surprise,  stopped  me  with  a  start  ;  made 
me  say  the  name  over  more  than  once  ;  and  then,  for  the  first 
time,  told  me  of  the  trouble  about  his  sweetheart  and  his  mar- 
riage. We  waited  a  little  to  taik  that  matter  over,  after  which 
I  went  on  again  with  my  story,  in  these  words  :) 

Well,  as  I  made  out  from  Clissold's  wanderings,  I  was  to  go 
to  Lanrean,  to  ask  among  the  old  men  for  Tregarthen,  and  to 
say  to  Tregarthen,  "  Ciissold  was  the  man.  Clissold  bore  no 
malice  ;  Clissold  repented  like  a  Christian,  for  the  sake  of  his 
poor  soul."  No!  I  was  to  say  something  else  to  Tregarthen. 
1  was  to  say,  "  Look  among  the  books;  look  at  the  leaf  you 
know  of,  and  see  for  yourself  it's  not  the  right  leaf  to  be  there." 
No  !  I  was  to  say  something  else  to  Tregarthen.  I  was  to  say, 
"The  right  leaf  is  hidden,  not  burned.  Ciissold  had  time  for 
everything  else,  but  no  time  to  burn  that  leaf.  Tregarthen 
came  in  when  he  had  got  the  candle  lit  to  burn  it.  There  was 
just  time  to  let  it  drop  from  under  his  hand  into  the  great  crack 
in  the  desk,  and  then  he  was  ordered  abroad  by  the  House,  and 
there  was  no  chance  of  doing  more."  No  !  1  was  to  say  none 
of  these  things  to  Tregarthen.  Only  this  instead  :  "  Look  in 
Clissold's  desk, — and  if  you  blame  anybody,  blame  Miser  Ray- 
brock  for  driving  him  to  it."  And  O,  another  drop, — for  the 
Lord's  sake,  give  him  another  drop  ! 

So  he  went  on,  over  and  over  again,  till  I  found  voice  enough 
to  speak  and  stop  him. 

"Get  up  and  go  !  "  I  said  to  the  miserable  wretch.  "Get 
back  to  your  own  side  of  the  island,  or  I  may  do  you  a  mischief, 
in  spite  of  my  own  self." 

"  Give  me  another  drop  and  I  will,"  was  all  the  answer  I 
could  get  from  him. 

I  threw  him  the  flask.  He  pounced  upon  it  with  a  howl. 
1  turned  my  back, — for  I  could  look  at  him  no  longer, — and 
climbed  down  again  to  my  cavern  on  the  beach. 

1  sat  down  alone  on  the  sand,  and  tried  to  quiet  myself  fit 
to  think  about  what  I  had  heard.  That  father  could  ever  have 
wilfully  done  anything  unbecoming  his  character  as  an  honest 
man,  was  what  I  wouldn't  believe,  in  the  first  place.  And  that 
the  wretched  brute  I  had  just  parted  from  was  in  his  right 
senses,  was  what  I  wouldn't  believe  in  the  second  place.  What 
I  had  myself  seen  of  drinkers,  at  sea  and  ashore,  helped  me  to 
understand  the  condition  into  which  he  had  fallen.     I  knew  that 


THE   SEAFARING   MAN. 


359 


when  a  man  who  had  been  a  drunkard  for  years  is  suddenly  cut 
off  his  drink,  he  drops  to  pieces  like,  body  and  mind,  for  the 
want  of  it.  I  had  also  heard  ship-doctors  talk,  by  some  name 
of  their  own,  of  a  drink-madness,  which  we  ignorant  men  call 
the  Horrors.  And  I  made  it  out,  easy  enough,  that  I  had  seen 
the  supercargo  in  the  first  of  these  conditions  ;  and  that  if  we 
both  lived  long  enough  without  help  coming  to  us,  I  might  soon 
see  him  in  the  second.  But  when  I  tried  to  get  farther,  and 
settle  how  much  of  what  I  had  heard  was  wandering  and  how 
much  truth,  and  what  it  meant  if  any  of  it  was  truth,  my  slow- 
ness got  in  my  way  again  ;  and  where  a  quicker  man  might 
have  made  up  his  mind  in  an  hour  or  two,  I  was  all  day,  in  sore 
distress,  making  up  mine.  The  upshot  of  what  I  settled  with 
myself  was,  in  two  word";,  this  :  having  mother's  writing-case 
handy  about  me,  I  determined  first  to  set  down  for  my  own 
self's  reminder,  all  that  1  had  heard.  Second,  to  clear  the  mat- 
ter up  if  ever  I  got  back  to  England  alive  ;  and  if  wrong  had 
been  done  to  that  old  man,  or  to  anybody  else,  in  father's  name 
(without  father's  knowledge),  to  make  restoration  for  his  sake. 
All  that  day  I  neither  saw  nor  heard  more  of  the  supercargo. 
I  passed  a  miserable  night  of  it,  after  writing  my  memorandum, 
fighting  with  my  loneliness  and  my  own  thoughts.  The  re- 
membrance of  those  words  in  father's  will,  saying  that  the  five 
hundred  pound  was  money  which  he  had  once  run  a  risk  with, 
kept  putting  into  my  mind  suspicions  I  was  ashamed  of.  When 
daylight  came,  I  almost  felt  as  if  1  was  going  to  have  the  Hor- 
rors too,  and  got  up  to  walk  them  off,  if  possible,  in  the  morn- 
ing air. 

I  kept  on  the  northern  side  of  the  island,  walking  backward 
and  forward  for  an  hour  or  more.  Then  I  returned  to  my 
cavern  ;  and  the  first  thing  I  saw,  on  getting  near  it,  was  other 
footsteps  than  mine  marked  on  the  sand.  I  suspected  at  once 
that  the  supercargo  had  been  lurking  about  watching  me  in- 
stead of  going  back"  to  his  own  side  ;  and  that,  in  my  absence, 
he  had  been-  at  his  thieving  tricks  again. 

The  stores  were  what  I  looked  at  first.  The  food  he  had  not 
touched  ;  but  the  water  he  had  either  drunk  or  wasted, — there 
was  not  half  a  pint  of  it  left.  The  medicine-chest  was  open, 
and  the  bottle  with  the  hartshorn  was  gone.  When  I  looked 
next  for  the  pistol,  which  1  had  loaded  With  powder  and  shot 
for  the  chance  of  bird-shooting  that  never  came,  the  pistol  was 
gone  too.  After  making  this  last  discovery,  there  was  but  one 
thing  to  be  done, — namely,  to  find  out  where  he  was,  and  to 
take  the  pistol  away  from  him. 


360      /  A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

I  set  off  to  search  first  on  the  western  side.  It  was  a  beau- 
tiful, clear,  calm,  sunshiny  morning  ;  and  as  I  crossed  the  is- 
land, looking  out  on  my  left  hand  and  my  right  I  stopped  on  a 
sudden,  with  my  heart  in  my  mouth,  as  the  saying  is.  Some- 
thing caught  my  eye,  far  out  at  sea,  in  the  northwest.  I  looked 
again, — and  there,  as  true  as  the  heavens  above  me,  I  saw  a 
ship,  With  the  sun-light  on  her  top-sails,  hull  down,  on  the 
water-line  in  the  offing. 

All  thought  of  the  errand  I  was  bent  on  went  out  of  my 
mind  in  an  instant.  I  ran  as  fast  as  my  weak  legs  would  carry 
me  to  the  northern  beach  ;  gathered  up  the  broken  wood  which 
was  still  lying  there  plentifully,  and,  with  the  help  of  the  dry 
scrub,  lit  the  largest  fire  I  had  made  yet.  This  was  the  only 
signal  it  was  in  my  power  to  make  that  there  were  men  on  the 
island.  The  fire  in  the  bright  daylight  would  never  be  visible 
to  the  ship  ;  but  the  smoke  curling  up  from  it  in  the  clear  sky 
might  be  seen,  if  they  had  a  look-out  at  the  mast-head. 

While  I  was  still  feeding  the  fire,  and  so  rapt  up  in  doing  it 
that  I  had  neither  eyes  nor  ears  for  anything  else,  1  heard  the 
supercargo's  voice,  on  a  sudden,  at  my  back.  He  had  stolen 
on  me  along  the  sand.  When  I  faced  him  he  was  swinging  his 
arms  about  in  the  air,  and  saying  to  himself,  over  and  over 
again,  "  I  see  the  ship  !     I  see  the  ship  ! " 

After  a  little  he  came  close  up  to  me.  By  the  look  of  him 
he  had  been  drinking  the  hartshorn,  and  it  had  strung  him  up  a 
bit,  body  and  mind,  for  the  time.  He  kept  his  right  hand  be- 
hind him,  as  if  he  was  hiding  something.  I  suspected  that 
"something"  to  be  the  pistol  I  was  in  search  of. 

"  Will  the  ship  come  here  ?"   says  he. 

"Yes,  if  they  see  the  smoke,"  says  I,  keeping  my  eye  on 
him. 

He  waited  a  bit,  frowning  suspiciously,  and  looking  hard  at 
me  all  the  time. 

"  What  did  I  say  to  you  yesterday?"  he  asked. 

"  What  I  have  got  written  down  here,"  I  made  answer, 
.smacking  my  hand  over  the  writing-case  in  my  breast-pocket ; 
"  and  what  I  mean  to  put  to  the  proof,  if  the  ship  sees  us  and 
we  get  back  to  England." 

He  whipped  his  right  hand  round  from  behind  him  like  light- 
ning, and  snapped  the  pistol  at  me.  It  missed  fire.  I 
wrenched  it  from  him  in  a  moment,  and  was  just  within  one 
hair's  breadth  of  knocking  him  on  the  head  with  the  butt-end 
afterwards.  I  lifted  my  hand, —  then  thought  better,  and 
dropped  it  again. 


THE  SEAFARING  MAN. 


361 


"  No,"  says  I,  fixing  my  eyes  on  him  steadily  :  "  I'll  wait 
till  the  ship  finds  ns." 

He  slunk  away  from  me  ;  and,  as  he  slunk,  looked,  hard 
into  the  fire.  He  stopped  a  minute  so,  thinking  to  himself; 
then  he  looked  back  at  me  again,  with  some  mad  mischief 
in  him,  that  twinkled  through  his  blue  spectacles,  and  grinned 
on  his  dry  black  lips. 

"The  ship  shall  never  find  you"  he  said.  With  which  words 
he  turned  himself  about  towards  his  own  side  of  the  island,  and 
left  me. 

He  only  meant  that  saying  to  be  a  threat, — but,  bird  of  ill- 
omen  that  he  was,  it  turned  out  as  good  as  a  prophecy  !  All 
my  hard  work  with  the  fire  proved  work  in  vain  ;  all  hope  was 
quenched  in  me  long  before  the  embers  I  had  set  light  to  were 
burned  out.  Whether  the  smoke  was  seen  or  not  from  the 
vessel  is  more  than  I  can  tell.  I  only  know  that  she  filled 
away  on  the  other  tack,  not  ten  minutes  after  the  supercargo 
left  me.  In  less  than  an  hour's  time  the  last  glimpse  of  the 
bright  top-sails  had  vanished  out  of  view. 

I  went  back  to  my  cavern, — which  was  now  likelier  than  ever 
to  be  my  grave  as  well.  In  that  hot  climate,  with  all  the  moist- 
ure on  the  island  dried  up,  with  not  quite  so  much  as  a  tumbler- 
ful of  fresh  water  left,  with  my  strength  wasted  by  living  on 
half-rations  of  food, — two  days  more,  at  most,  would  see  me 
out.  It  was  hard  enough  for  a  man  at  my  age,  with  all  that  I 
had  left  at  home  to  make  life  precious,  to  die  such  a  death  as 
was  now  before  me.  It  was  harder  still  to  have  the  sting  of 
death  sharpened — as  I  felt  it  then — by  what  had  just  happened 
between  the  supercargo  and  myself.  There  was  no  hope  now 
that  the  wanderings,  the  day  before,  had  more  falsehood  than 
truth  in  them.  The  secret  he  had  let  out  was  plainly  true 
enough  and  serious  enough  to  have  scared  him  into  attempting 
my  life,  rather  than  let  me  keep  possession  of  it,  when  there 
was  a  chance  of  the  ship  rescuing  us.  That  secret  had  father's 
good  name  mixed  up  with  it, — and  here  was  I,  instead  of  clear- 
ing the  villanous  darkness  from  off  of  it,  carrying  it  with  me, 
black  as  ever,  into  my  grave. 

It  was  out  of  the  horror  I  felt  at  doing  that,  and  out  of  the 
yearning  of  my  heart  toward  you,  Alfred,  when  I  thought  of  it, 
that  the  notion  came  to  comfort  me,  of  writing  the  Message  at 
the  top  of  the  paper,  and  of  committing  it  in  the  bottle  to  the 
sea.  Drowning  men,  they  say,  catch  at  straws, — and  the  straw 
of  comfort  I  caught  at  was  the  one  chance  in  ten  thousand  that 
the  Message  might  float  till  it  was  picked  up,  and  that  it  might 

16 


362 


A    MESSAGE   FROM    THE   SEA. 


reach  you.  My  mind  might,  or  might  not,  have  been  failing  me 
by  this  time,— but  it  is  true,  either  way,  that  I  did  feel 
comforted  when  I  had  emptied  one  of  the  two  bottles  left  in 
the  medicine-chest,  had  put  the  paper  inside,  had  tied  the  step- 
per carefully  over  with  the  oil-skin,  and  had  laid  the  whole. by  in 
my  pocket,  ready,  when  I  felt  my  time  coming,  to  drop  into  tlve 
sea.  I  was  rid  of  the  secret,  I  thought  to  myself;  and,  if  it 
pleased  God,  I  was  rid  of  it,  Alfred,  to  you. 

The  day  waned,  and  the  sun  set,  all  cloudless  and  golden, 
in  a  dead  calm.  There  was  not  a  ripple  anywhere  on  the  long 
oily  heaving  of  the  sea.  Before  night  came  I  strengthened 
myself  with  a  better  meal  than  usual  as  to  food, — for  where  was 
the  use  of  keeping  meat  and  biscuit  when  I  had  not  water 
enough  to  last  along  with  them  ?  When  the  stars  came  out 
and  the  moon  rose  I  gathered  the  wood  together  and  lit  the 
signal-fire,  according  to  custom,  on  the  beach  outside  my  cav- 
ern. I  had  no  hope  from  it, — but  the  fire  was  company  to  me  ; 
the  looking  into  it  quieted  my  thoughts,  and  the  crackling  of  it 
was  a  relief  in  the  silence.  I  don't  know  why  it  was,  but  the 
breathless  stillness  of  that  night  had  something  awful  in  it,  and 
went  near  to  frightening  me. 

The  moon  got  high  in  the  heavens,  and  the  light  of  her  lay 
all  in  a  flood  on  the  sand  before  me,  on  the  rocks  that  jutted 
out  from  it,  and  on  the  calm  sea  beyond.  1  was  thinking  of 
Margaret, — wondering  if  the  moon  was  shining  on  our  little  bay 
at  Steepways,  and  if  she  was  looking  at  it  loo, — when  I  saw  a 
man's  shadow  steal  over  the  white  of  the  sand.  He  was  lurk- 
ing near  me  again  !  In  a  minute  he  came  into  view.  The 
moonshine  glinted  on  his  blue  spectacles,  and  glimmered  on 
his  bald  head.  He  stopped  as  he  passed  the  rocks  and  looked 
about  for  a  loose  stone ;  he  found  a  iarge  one,  and  came 
straight  with  it  on  tiptoe  up  to  the  fire.  1  showed  myself  to  him 
on  a  sudden,  in  the  red  of  the  flame,  with  the  pistol  in  my  hand. 
He  dropped  the  stone  and  shrank  back  at  the  sight  of  it.  When 
on  he  was  close  to  the  sea  he  stopped,  and  screamed  out  at  me, 
"The  ship's  coming!  The  ship's  coming!  The  ship  shall 
never  find  you  /"  The  notion  of  the  ship,  and  that  other  no- 
tion of  killing  me  before  help  came  to  us,  seemed  never  to 
have  left  him.  When  he  turned,  and  went  back  bv  the  way  he 
had  come,  he  was  stiil  shouting  out  those  same  words.  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  or  more  I  heard  him,  till  the  silence  swallowed 
up  his  ravings,  and  led  me  back  again  to  my  thoughts  of  home. 

Those  thoughts  kept  with  me  till  the  moon  was  on  the  wane. 
It  was  darker  now,  and  stiller  than  ever.     I   had  not  fed  the 


THE   SEAFARING  MAN. 


3^3 


signal-fire  for  half  an  hour  or  more,  and  had  roused  myself  up, 
at  the  mouth  of  the  cavern,  to  do  it,  when  I  saw  the  dying 
gleams  of  moonshine  over  the  sea  on  either  side  of  me  change 
colour  and  turn  red.  Black  shadows,  as  from  low-flying  clouds, 
swept  after  each  other  over  the  deepening  redness.  The  air 
grew  hot, — a  sound  came  nearer  and  nearer,  from  above  me 
and  behind  me,  like  the  rush  of  wind  and  the  roar  of  water 
both  together,  and  both  far  off.  I  ran  out  on  to  the  sand  and 
looked  back.     The  island  was  on  fire  ! 

On  fire  at  the  point  of  it  opposite  to  me, — on  fire  in  one 
great  sheet  of  flame  that  stretched  right  across  the  island,  and 
bore  down  on  me  steadily  before  the  light  westerly  wind  which 
was  blowing  at  the  time.  Only  one  hand  could  have  kindled 
that  terrible  flame, — the  hand  of  the  lost  wretch  who  had  left 
me,  with  the  mad  threat  on  his  lips  and  the  murderous  notion 
of  burning  me  out  of  my  refuge,  working  in  his  crazy  brain. 
On  his  side  of  the  island  (where  the  fire  had  begun),  the  dry 
grass  and  scrub  grew  all  round  the  little  hollow  in  the  earth 
which  I  had  left  to  him  for  his  place  of  refuge.  If  he  had  had 
a  thousand  lives  to  lose  he  would  have  lost  that  thousand  al- 
ready ! 

Having  nothing  to  feed  on  but  the  dry  scrub,  the  flame  swept 
forward  with  such  a  frightful  swiftness  that  I  had  barely  time, 
after  mastering  my  own  scattered  senses,  to  turn  back  into  the 
cavern  to  get  my  last  drink  of  water  and  my  last  mouthful  of 
food,  before  I  heard  the  fiery  scorch  crackling  over  the  thatched 
roof  which  my  own  hands  had  raised.  I  ran  across  the  beach  to 
the  spur  of  rock  which  jutted  out  into  the  sea,  and  there 
crouched  down  on  the  farthest  edge  I  could  reach  to.  There  was 
nothing  for  the  fire  today  hold  of  between  me  and  the  top  of  the 
island  bank.  I  was  far  enough  away  to  be  out  of  the  lick 
of  the  flames,  and  low  enough  down  to  get  air  under  the 
sweep  of  the  smoke.  You  may  well  wonder  why,  with  death 
by  starvation  threatening  me  close  at  hand,  I  should  have 
schemed  and  struggled  as  I  did  to  save  myself  from  a  quicker 
death  by  suffocation  in  the  smoke.  I  can  only  answer  to  that, 
that  I  wonder  too, — but  so  it  was. 

The  flames  ate  their  way  to  the  edge  of  the  bank,  and  lapped 
over  it  as  if  they  longed  to  lick  me  up.  The  heat  scorched  nearer 
than  I  had  thought,  and  the  smoke  poured  lower  and  thicker. 
I  lay  down  sick  and  weak  on  the  rock,  with  my  face  over  the 
calm,  cool  water.  When  I  ventured  to  lilt  myself  up  again,  the 
top  of  the  island  was  of  a  ruby  red,  the  smoke  rose  slowly  in 
little  streams,  and  the  air  above  was  quivering  with   the  heat. 


364  A   MESSAGE   FROM    THE  SEA. 

While  I  looked  at  it  1  felt  a  kind  of  surging  and  singing  in  my 
head,  and  a  deadly  faintness  and  coldness  crept  all  over  me. 
1  took  die  bottle  that  held  the  Message  from  my  pocket,  and 
dropped  it  into  the  sea, — then  crawled  a  little  way  back  over 
the  rocks,  and  fell  forward  on  them  before  I  could  get  as  far  as 
Ih  •  sand.  The  last  I  remember  was  trying  to  say  my  prayers, 
— losing  the  words, — losing  my  sight,— losing  the  sense  of 
where  1  was, — losing  everything. 

The  day  was  breaking  again  when  I  was  roused  up  by  feel- 
ing rough  hands  on  me.  Naked  savages — some  on  the  rocks, 
so  ne  in  the  water,  some  in  two  long  canoes — were  clamouring 
and  crowding  about  on  all  sides.  They  bound  me  and  took 
me  off  at  once  to  one  of  the  canoes.  The  other  kept  company, 
and  both  were  paddled  back  to  that  high  land  which  I  had  seen, 
in  die  south.  Death  had  passed  me  by  once  more,  and  Cap- 
tivity had  come  in  its  place. 

The  story  of  my  life  among  the  savages,  having  no  concern 
with  the  matter  now  in  hand,  maybe  passed  by  here  in  few  words. 
Thev  had  seen  the  tire  on  the  island  ;  and  paddling  over  to 
reconnoitre,  had  found  me.  Not  one  of  them  had  ever  set 
eyes  on  a  white  man  before.  I  was  taken  away  to  be  shown 
about  among  them  for  a  curiosity.  When  they  were  tired  of 
showing  me,  they  spared  my  life,  finding  my  knowledge  and 
general  handiness  as  a  civilized  man  useful  to  them  in  various 
ways.  I  lost  all  count  of  time  in  my  captivity,  and  can  only 
guess  now  that  it  lasted  more  than  one  year  and  less  than  two. 
I  made  two  attempts  to  escape,  each  time  in  a  canoe,  and  was 
balked  in  both.  Nobody  at  home  in  England  would  ever,  as 
I  believe,  have  seen  me  again  if  an  outward-bound  vessel  had 
not  touched  at  the  little  desert  island  for  fresh  water.  Finding 
none  there  she  came  on  to  the  territory  of  the  savages  (which 
was  an  island  too).  When  they  took  me  on  board  I  looked 
little  better  than  a  savage  myself,  and  could  hardly  talk  my 
own  language.  By  the  help  of  the  kindness  shown  to  me  I 
was  right  again  by  the  time  we  spoke  the  first  ship  homeward- 
bound.  To  that  vessel  1  was  transferred  ;  and  in  her  I  worked 
my  passage  back  to  Falmouth. 


THE   RESTITUTION.  365 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  Restitution. 

APTAIN  JORGAN,  up  and  out  betimes,  had  put  the 
whole  village  of  Lanrean  under  an  amicable  cross- 
examination,  and  was  returning  to  the  King  Arthur's 
Arms  to  breakfast,  none  the  wiser  for  his  trouble, 
when  he  beheld  the  young  fisherman  advancing  to  meet  him 
accompanied  by  a  stranger.  A  glance  at  this  stranger  assured 
the  captain  that  he  could  be  no  other  than  the  Seafaring 
Man  ;  and  the  captain  was  about  to  hail  him  as  a  fellow-crafts- 
man, when  the  two  stood  still  and  silent  before  the  captain, 
and  the  captain  stood  still,  silent,  and  wondering  before  them. 

"Why,  what's  this?"  cried  the  captain,  when  at  last  he 
broke  the  silence.  "  You  two  are  alike.  You  two  are  much 
alike!     What's  this  ?  " 

Not  a  word  was  answered  on  the  other  side,  until  after  the 
seafaring  brother  had  got  hold  of  the  captain's  right  hand,  and 
the  fisherman  brother  had  got  hold  of  the  captain's  left  hand  ; 
and  if  ever  the  captain  had  had  his  fill  of  hand-shaking,  from 
his  birth  to  that  hour,  he  had  it  then.  And  presently  up  and 
spoke  the  two  brothers,  one  at  a  time,  two  at  a  time,  two  dozen 
at  a  time  for  the  bewilderment  into  which  they  plunged  the 
captain,  until  he  gradually  had  Hugh  Ray  brock's  deliverance 
made  clear  to  him,  and  also  unravelled  the  fact  that  the  person 
referred  to  in  the  half-obliterated  paper  was  Tregarthen  himself. 

"  Formerly,  dear  Captain  Jorgan,"  said  Alfred,  "  of  Lan- 
rean, you  recollect?  Kitty  and  her  father  came  to  live  at 
Steepways  after  Hugh  shipped  on  his  last  voyage." 

"Ay,  ay!"  cried  the  captain,  fetching  a  breath.  "Now 
you  have  me  in  tow.  Then  your  brother  here  don't  know  his 
sister-in-law  that  is  to  be  so  much  as  by  name  ?  " 

"  Never  saw  her  ;  never  heard  of  her  !  " 

"Ay,  ay,  ay!"  cried  the  captain.  "Why  then  we  every 
one  go  back  together — paper,  writer,  and  all— and  take  Tre- 
garthen into  the  secret  we  kept  from  him?" 

"Surely,"  said  Alfred,  "we  can't  help  it  now.  We  must  go 
through  with  our  duty." 

"  Not  a  doubt,"  returned  the  captain.  "  Give  me  an  arm 
apiece,  and  let  us  set  this  ship-shape." 

So  walking  up  and  down  in  the  shrill  wind  on  the  wild  moor, 


366  *  MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 

while  the  neglected  breakfast  cooled  within,  the-  captain  and 
the  brothers  settled  their  course  of  action. 

It  was  that  they  should  all  proceed  by  the  quickest  means 
they  could  secure  to  Barnstaple,  and  there  look  over  the 
father's  books  and  papers  in  the  lawyer's  keeping;  as  Hugh 
had  proposed  to  himself  to  do  if  ever  he  reached  home.  That, 
enlightened  or  unenlightened,  they  should  then  return  to 
Steepways  and  go  straight  to  Mr.  Tregarthen,  and  tell  him  all 
they  knew,  and  see  what  came  of  it,  and  act  accordingly. 
Lastly,  that  when  they  got  there  they  should  enter  the  village 
with  all  precautions  against  Hugh's  being  recognized  by  any 
chance  ;  and  that  to  the  captain  should  be  consigned  the  task 
of  preparing  his  wife  and  mother  for  his  restoration  to  this  life. 

"  For  you  see,"  quoth  Captain  Jorgan,  touching  the  last 
head,  "  it  requires  caution  any  way,  great  joys  being  as  dan- 
gerous as  great  griefs,  if  not  more  dangerous,  as  being  more 
uncommon  (and  therefore  less  provided  against)  in  this  round 
world  of  ours.  And  besides,  I  should  like  to  free  my  name 
with  the  ladies,  and  take  you  home  again  at  your  brightest 
and  luckiest  ;  so  don't  let's  throw  away  a  chance  of  success." 

The  captain  was  highly  lauded  by  the  brothers  for  his  kind 
interest  and  foresight. 

"And  now  stop!"  said  the  captain,  coming  to  a  stand-still, 
and  looking  from  one  brother  to  the  other,  with  quite  a  new 
rigging  of  wrinkles  about  each  eye;  "you  are  of  opinion,"  to 
the  elder,  "  that  you  are  ra'ather  slow?" 

"  I  assure  you  I  am  very  slow,"  said  the  honest  Hugh. 

"Wa'al,"  replied  the  captain,  "I  assure  you  that  to  the  best 
of  my  belief  I  am  ra'ather  smart.  Now  a  slow  man  ain't  good 
at  quick  business,  is  he  ?  " 

That  was  clear  to  both. 

"  You,"  said  the  captain,  turning  to  the  younger  brother, 
"  are  a  little  in  love  ;  ain't  you?  " 

"Not  a  little,  Captain  Jorgan." 

"  Much  or  little,  you're  sort  preoccupied;  ain't  you  ?" 

It  was  impossible  to  be  denied. 

"And  a  sort  preoccupied  man  ain't  good  at  quick  business, 
is  he  ?"  said  the  captain. 

Equally  clear  on  all  sides. 

"Now,"  said  the  captain,  "I  ain't  in  love  myself,  and  I've 
made  many  a  smart  run  across  the  ocean,  and  I  should  like  to 
carry  on  and  go  ahead  with  this  affair  of  yours  and  make  a  run 
slick  through  it.     Shall  I  try  ?     Will  you  hand  it  over  to  me  ?  " 

They  were  both  delighted  to  do  so,  s.nd  thanked  him  heartily. 


THE   RESTITUTION. 


367 


"Good,"  said  the  captain,  taking  out  his  watch.  "This  is 
half  past  eight  a.  m.,  Friday  morning.  I'll  jot  that  down,  and 
we'll  compute  how  many  hours  we've  been  out  when  we  run 
into  your  mother's  post-Qffice.  There  !  The  entry's  made, 
and  now  we  go  ahead." 

They  went  ahead  so  well  that  before  the  Barnstaple  lawyer's 
office  was  open  next  morning,  the  captain  was  sitting  whistling 
on  the  step  of  the  door,  waiting  for  the  clerk  to  come  down 
the  street  with  his  key  and  open  it.  But  instead  of  the  clerk 
there  came  the  master,  with  whom  the  captain  fraternized  on 
the  spot  to  an  extent  that  utterly  confounded  him. 

As  he  personally  knew  both  Hugh  and  Alfred,  there  was  no 
difficulty  in  obtaining  immediate  access  to  such  of  the  father's 
papers  as  were  in  his  keeping.  These  were  chiefly  old  letters 
and  cash  accounts  ;  from  which  the  captain  with  a  shrewdness 
and  despatch  that  left  the  lawyer  far  behind,  established  with 
perfect  clearness,  by  noon,  the  following  particulars  : — 

That  one  Lawrence  Clissold  had  borrowed  of  the  deceased, 
at  a  time  when  he  was  a  thriving  young  tradesman  in  the  town 
of  Barnstaple,  the  sum  of  five  hundred  pounds.  That  he  had 
borrowed  it  on  the  written  statement  that  it  was  to  be  laid  out 
in  furtherance  of  a  speculation  which  he  expected  would  raise 
him  to  independence  ;  he  being,  at  the  time  of  writing  that 
letter,  no  more  than  a  clerk  in  the  house  cf  Dringworth 
Brothers,  America  Square,  London.  That  the  money  was 
borrowed  for  a  stipulated  period  :  but  that,  when  the  term  was 
out,  the  aforesaid  speculation  failed,  and  Clissold  was  without 
means  of  repayment.  That,  hereupon,  he  had  written  to  his 
creditor,  in  no  very  persuasive  terms,  vaguely  requesting  further 
lime.  That  the  creditor  had  refused  this  concession,  declaring 
that  he  could  not  afford  delay.  That  Clissold  then  paid  the 
debt,  accompanying  the  remittance  of  the  money  with  an  angry 
letter  describing  it  as  having  been  advanced  by  a  relative  to 
save  him  from  ruin.  That  in  acknowledging  the  receipt,  Ray- 
brock  had  cautioned  Clissold  to  seek  to  borrow  money  of  him 
no  more,  as  he  would  never  so  risk  money  again. 

Before  the  lawyer  the  captain  said  never  a  word  in  reference 
to  these  discoveries.  But  when  the  papers  had  been  put  back 
in  their  box,  and  he  and  his  two  companions  were  well  out  of 
the  office,  his  right  leg  suffered  for  it,  and  he  said, — 

"  So  far  this  run's  begun  with  a  fair  wind  and  a  prosperous ; 
for  don't  you  see  that  all  this  agrees  with  that  dutiful  trust  in 
his  father  maintained  by  the  slow  member  of  the  Raybrock 
family  ?  " 


368  A   MESSAGE  EROM    THE  SEA. 

Whether  the  brothers  had  seen  it  before  or  no,  they  saw  it 
now.  Not  that  the  captain  gave  them  much  time  to  contem- 
plate the  state  of  things  at  their  ease,  for  he  instantly  whipped 
them  into  a  chaise  again,  and  bore  them  off  to  Steepways. 
Although  the  afternoon  was  but  just  beginning  to  decline  when 
they  reached  it,  and  it  was  broad  daylight,  still  they  had  no 
difficulty,  by  dint  of  muffling  the  returned  sailor  up,  and  ascend- 
ing the  village  rather  than  descending  it,  in  reaching  Tregar- 
then's  cottage  unobserved.  Kitty  was  not  visible,  and  they 
surprised  Tregarthen  sitting  writing  in  the  small  bay-window  of 
his  little  room. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  captain,  instantly  shaking  hands  with  him, 
pen  and  all,  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  sir.  How  do  you  do,  sir  ? 
I  told  you  you'd  think  better  of  me  by  and  by,  and  I  congratu- 
late you  on  going  to  do  it." 

Here  the  captain's  eye  fell  on  Tom  Pettifer  Ho,  engaged  in 
preparing  some  cookery  at  the  lire. 

"That  critter,"  said  the  captain,  smiting  his  leg,  "is  a  born 
steward,  and  never  ought  to  have  been  in  any  other  way  of 
life.  Stop  where  you  are,  Tom,  and  make  yourself  useful. 
Now,  Tregarthen,  I'm  going  to  try  a  chair." 

Accordingly  the  captain  drew  one  close  to  him,  and  went 
on  : 

"This  loving  member  of  the  Raybrock  family  you  know,  sir. 
This  slow  member  of  the  same  family,  you  don't  know,  sir. 
Wa'al,  these  two  are  brothers, — fact  !  Hugh's  come  to  life 
again,  and  here  he  stands.  Now  see  here,  my  friend  !  You 
don't  want  to  be  told  that  he  was  cast  away,  but  you  do  want 
to  be  told  (for  there's  a  purpose  in  it)  that  he  was  cast  away 
with  another  man.     That  man  by  name  was  Lawrence  Clissold." 

At  the  mention  of  this  name  Tregarthen  started  and  changed 
colour.      "What's  the  matter?"  said  the  captain. 

"He  was  a  fellow-clerk  of  mine  thirty — five-and-thirty — 
years  ago." 

"True,"  said  the  captain,  immediately  catching  at  the  clew  : 
"  Dringworth   Brothers,  America  Square,  London  City." 

The  other  started  again,  nodded,  and  said,  "That  was  the 
house." 

"Now,"  pursued  the  captain,  "between  those  two  men  cast 
away  there  arose  a  mystery  concerning  the  round  sum  of  five 
hundred  pound." 

Again  Tregarthen  started,  changing  colour.  Again  the  cap- 
tain said,  "What's  the  matter?  " 

As  Tregarthen  only  answered,"  Please  to  go  on,"  the  captain 


THE   RESTITUTION. 


369 


recounted,  very  tersely  and  plainly,  the  natare  of  Clissold's 
wanderings  on  the  barren  island,  as  he  had  condensed  them  in 
his  mind  from  the  seafaring  man.  Tregarthen  became  agitated 
during  this  recital,  and  at  length  exclaimed, 

"  Clissold  was  "fne  man  who  ruined  me  !  1  have  suspected 
it  for  many  a  long  year,  and  now  1  know  it." 

"And  how,"  said  the  captain,  drawing  his  chair  still  closer 
to  Tregarthen,  and  clapping  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder,— 
"  how  may  you  know  it  ?  " 

"When  we  were  fellow-clerks,"  replied  Tregarthen,  "in  that 
London  house,  it  was  one  of  my  duties  to  enter  daily  in  a  cer- 
tain book  an  account  of  the  sums  received  that  day  by  the 
firm,  and  afterward  paid  into  the  banker's.  One  memorable 
day, — a  Wednesday,  the  black  clay  of  my  life, — among  the 
the  sums  I  so  entered  was  one  of  five  hundred  pounds." 

"  I  begin  to  make  it  out,"  said  the  captain.      "Yes  ?  " 

"It  was  one  of  Clissold's  duties  to  copy  from  this  entry  a 
memorandum  of  the  sums  which  the  clerk  employed  to  go  to 
the  bankers  paid  in  there.  It  was  my  duty  to  hand  the  money 
to  Clissold  ;  it  was  Clissold's  to  hand  it  to  the  clerk,  with  that 
memorandum  of  his  writing.  On  that  Wednesday  I  entered 
a  sum  of  five  hundred  pounds  received.  I  handed  that  sum, 
as  I  handed  the  other  sums  in  the  day's  entry,  to  Clissold.  I 
was  absolutely  certain  of  it  at  the  time;  I  have  been  absolutely 
certain  of  it  ever  since.  A  sum  of  five  hundred  pounds  wa*s 
afterward  found  by  the  house  to  have  been  that  day  wanting 
from  the  bag,  from  Clissold's  memorandum,  and  from  the 
entries  in  my  book.  Clissold,  being  questioned,  stood  upon 
his  perfect  clearness  in  the  matter,  and  emphatically  declared 
that  he  asked  no  better  than  to  be  tested  by  '  Tregarthen' s 
book.'  My  book  was  examined,  and  the  entry  of  five  hundred 
pounds  was  not  there." 

"How  not  there,"  said  the  captain,  "when  you  made  it 
yourself?" 

Tregarthen  continued  : 

"  I  was  then  questioned.  Had  I  made  the  entry  ?  Cer- 
tainly I  had.  The  house  produced  my  book,  and  it  was  not 
there.  I  could  not  deny  my  book  ;  I  could  not  deny  my  writing. 
I  knew  there  must  be  forgery  by  some  one ;  but  the  writing 
was  wonderfully  like  mine,  and  I  could  impeach  no  one  if  the 
house  could  not.  I  was  required  to  pay  the  money  back.  I 
did  so  ;  and  I  left  the  house,  almost  broken-hearted,  rather 
than  remain  there, — even  if  I  could  have  done  so, — with  a 
dark  shadow  of  suspicion  always  on  me.     I  returned    to  my 


37o 


A   MESSAGE   FROM   THE   SEA. 


native  place,  Lanrean,  and  remained  there,  clerk  to  a  mine, 
until  I  was  appointed  to  my  little  post  here." 

"I  well  remember,"  said  the  captain,  "that  I  told  you  that 
if  you  bad  had  no  experience  of  ill  judgments  on  deceiving 
appearances,  you  were  a  lucky  man.  You  went  hurt  at  that, 
and  I  see  why.      I'm  sorry." 

"Thus  it  is,"  said  Tregarthen.  "Of  my  own  innocence  I 
have  of  course  been  sure  ;  it  has  been  at  once  my  comfort  and 
my  trial.  Of  Clissold  I  have  always  had  suspicions  almost 
amounting  to  certainty;  but  they  have  never  been  confirmed 
until  now.  For  my  daughter's  sake  and  for  my  own  I  have 
carried  this  subject  in  my  own  heart,  as  the  only  secret  of  my 
iife,  and  have  long  believed  that  it  would  die  with  me." 

"  Wa'al,  my  good  sir,"  said  the  captain,  cordially,  "  the  pres- 
ent question  is,  and  will  be  long,  I  hope,  concerning  living,  and 
not  dying.  Now,  here  are  our  two  honest  friends,  the  loving 
Raybrock  and  the  slow.  Here  they  stand,  agreed  on  one 
point,  on  which  I'd  back  'em  round  the  world,  and  right  across 
it  from  north  to  south,  and  then  from  east  to  west,  and  through 
it,  from  your  deepest  Cornish  mine  to  China.  It  is,  that  they 
will  never  use  this  same  so-mentioned  sum  of  money,  and  that 
restitution  of  it  must  be  made  to  you.  These  two,  the  loving 
member  and  the  slow,  for  the  sake  of  the  right  and  of  their 
father's  memory,  will  have  it  ready  for  you  to-morrow.  Take 
it,  and  ease  their  minds  and  mine,  and  end  a  most  unfort'nate 
transaction." 

Tregarthen  took  the  captain  by  the  hand,  and  gave  his  hand 
to  each  of  the  young  men,  but  positively  and  finally  answered 
No.  He  said,  they  trusted  to  his  word,  and  he  was  glad  of  it 
and  at  rest  in  his  mind  ;  but  there  was  no  proof,  and  the  money 
must  remain  as  it  was.  All  were  very  earnest  over  this  ;  and 
earnestness  in  men,  when  they  are  right  and  true,  is  so  impres- 
sive, that  Mr.  Pettifer  deserted  his  cookery  and  looked  on  quite 
moved. 

"And  so,"  said  the  captain,  "so  we  come, — as  that  lawyer- 
crittur  over  yonder  where  we  were  this  morning  might, — to  mere 
proof;  do  we?  We  must  have  it  ;  must  we  ?  How?  From 
this  Clissold's  wanderings,  and  from  what  you  say,  it  ain't  hard 
to  make  out  that  there  was  ;?  neat  forgery  of  your  writing  com- 
mitted by  the  too  smart  Rowdy  that  was  grease  and  ashes  when 
I  made  his  acquaintance,  and  a  substitution  of  a  forged  leaf 
in  your  book  for  a  real  and  true  leaf  torn  out.  Now  was  that 
real  and  true  leaf  then  and  there  destroyed  ?  No, — for  says  he, 
in  his  drunken  way.  he  slipped  it  into  a  crack  in  his  own  desk, 


THE   RESTITUTION. 


371 


because  you  came  into  the  office  before  there  was  time  to  burn 
it,  and  could  never  get  back  to  it  afterwards.  Wait  a  bit. 
Where  is  that  desk  now  ?  Do  you  consider  it  likely  to  be  in 
America  Square,  London  City  ?" 

Tregarthen  shook  hi*  head. 

"  The  house  has  not.  for  years,  transacted  business  in  that 
place.  I  have  heard  of  it  and  read  of  it,  as  removed,  enlarged, 
every  way  altered.     Things  alter  so  fast  in  these  times.  " 

"You  think  so,"returned  the  captain,  with  compassion  ;  "  but 
you  should  come  over  and  see  me  afore  you  talk  about  that. 
Wa'al,  now.  This  desk,  this  paper, — this  paper,  this  desk,"  said 
the  captain,  ruminating  and  walking  about,  and  looking,  in  his 
uneasy  abstraction,  into  Mr.  Pettifer's  hat  on  a  table,  among 
other  things.  "  This  desk,  this  paper, — this  paper,  this  desk," 
the  captain  continued,  musing  and  roaming  about  the  room, 
"I'd  give—" 

However,  he  gave  nothing,  but  took  up  his  steward's  hat 
instead,  and  stood  looking  into  it,  as  if  he  had  just  come  into 
Church.  After  that  he  roamed  again,  and  again  said,  "This 
desk,  belonging  to  this  House  of  Dringworth  Brothers,  America 
Square,  London  City — " 

Mr.  Pettifer,  still  strangely  moved,  and  now  more  moved 
than  before,  cut  the  captain  off  as  he  backed  across  the  room, 
and  bespake  him  thus  : 

"  Captain  Jorgan,  I  have  been  wishful  to  engage  your  atten- 
tion, but  I  couldn't  do  it.  I  am  unwilling  to  interrupt,  Captain 
Jorgan,  but  I  must  doit,     /know  something  about  that  house." 

The  captain  stood  stock-still,  and  looked  at  him, — with  his 
(Mr.  Pettifer's)  hat  under  his  arm. 

"You're  aware,"  pursued  his  steward,  "  that  I  was  once  in 
the  broking  business,  Captain  Jorgan  ?" 

"  I  was  aware,"  said  the  captain,  "  that  you  had  failed  in  that 
calling,  and  in  half  the  businesses  going,  Tom." 

"  Not  quite  so,  Captain  Jorgan  ;  but  I  failed  in  the  broking 
business.  1  was  partners  with  my  brother,  sir.  There  was  a 
sale  of  old  office  furniture  at  Dringworth  Brothers  when  the 
house  was  moved  from  America  Square,  and  me  and  my  brother 
made  what  we  call  in  the  trade  a  Deal  there,  sir.  And  I'll 
make  bold  to  say.  sir,  that  the  only  thing  1  ever  had  from  my 
brother,  or  from  any  relation,— for  my  relations  have  mostly 
taken  property  from  me  instead  of  giving  me  any,— was  an  old 
desk  we  bought  at  that  same  sale,  with  a  crack  in  it.  My 
brother  wouldn't  have  given  me  even  that,  when  we  broke 
partnership,  if  it  had  been  worth  anything." 


■372 


A   MESSAGE  FROM   THE  SEA. 


"  Where  is  that  desk  now?"  said  the  captain. 

"Well,  Captain  Jorgan,"  replied  the  steward,  "  I  couldn't  say 
for  certain  where  it  is  now  ;  but  when  I  saw  it  last, — which  was 
last  time  we  were  outward-bound, — it  was  at  a  very  nice  lady's  at 
Wapping,  along  with  a  little  chest  of  mine  which  was  detained 
for  a  small  matter  of  a  bill  owing." 

The  captain,  instead  of  paying  that  rapt  attention  to  his 
steward  which  was  rendered  by  the  other  three  persons  present, 
went  to  Church  again,  in  respect  of  the  steward's  hat.  And  a 
most  especially  agitated  and  memorable  face  the  captain  pro- 
duced from  it,  after  a  short  pause. 

"  Now,  Tom,"  said  the  captain,  "  I  spoke  to  you,  when  we 
first  came  here,  respecting  your  constitutional  weakness  on  the 
subject  of  sunstroke." 

"  You  did,  sir." 

"  Will  my  slow  friend,"  said  the  captain,  "  lend  me  his  arm, 
or  I  shall  sink  right  back'ards  into  this  blessed  steward's  cook- 
ery ?  Now,  Tom,"  pursued  the  captain,  when  the  required 
assistance  was  given,  "  on  your  oath  as  a  steward,  didn't  you 
take  that  desk  to  pieces  to  make  a  better  one  out  of  it  and  put 
it  together  fresh — or  something  of  the  kind  ?" 

"  On  my  oath  I  did,  sir,"  replied  the  steward. 

"And  by  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  my  friends,  one  and  all," 
cried  the  captain,  radiant  with  joy — "  of  the  Heaven  that  put 
it  into  this  Tom  Pettifer's  head  to  take  so  much  care  of  his 
head  againt  the  bright  sun, — he  lined  his  hat  with  'he  original 
leaf  in  Tregarthen' s  writings, — and  here  it  is  !" 

With  that  the  captain,  to  the  utter  destruction  of  Mr.  Pet- 
tifer's favourite  hat,  produced  the  book-leaf,  very  much  worn,  but 
still  legible,  and  gave  both  his  legs  such  tremendous  slaps  that 
they  were  heard  far  off  in  the  bay,  and  never  accounted  for. 

"  A  quarter  past  five  P.  M.,"  said  the  captain,  pulling  out  his 
watch,  "  and  that's  thirty-three  hours  and  a  quarter  in  all,  and  a 
pretty  run  !  " 

How  they  were  all  overpowered  with  delight  and  triumph  ; 
how  the  money  was  restored,  then  and  there,  to  Tregarthen  ; 
how  Tregarthen,  then  and  there,  gave  it  all  to  his  daughter  ; 
how  the  captain  undertook  to  go  to  Uringworth  Brothers  and 
re-establish  the  reputation  of  their  forgotten  old  clerk  ;  how 
Kitty  came  in,  and  was  nearly  torn  to  pieces,  and  the  marriage 
was  reappointed,  needs  not  to  be  told.  Nor  how  she  and  the 
young  fisherman  went  home  to  the  post-office  to  prepare  the 
way  for  the  captain's  coming,  by  declaring  him  to  be  the  mightiest 
of  men,  who   had  made  all  their   fortunes, — and   then   dutifully 


THE   RESTITUTION.  2,73 

withdrew  together,  in  order  that  lie  might  have  the  domestic 
coast  entirely  to  himself.  How  he  availed  himself  of  it  is  all 
that  remains  to  tell. 

Deeply  delighted  with  his  trust,  and  putting  his  heart  into 
it,  he  raised  the  latch  of  the  post-office  parlour  where  Mrs. 
Raybrock  and  the  young  widow  sat,  and  said, 

"  May  I  come  in  ?  " 

"Sure  you  may,  Captain  Jorgan  !"  replied  the  old  lady. 
"  And  good  reason  you  have  to  be  free  of  the  house,  though 
you  have  not  been  too  well  used  in  it  by  some  who  ought  to 
have  known  better.      I  ask  your  pardon." 

"No,  you  don't,  ma'am,"  said  the  captain,  "for  I  won't  let 
you.  Wa'al,  to  be  sure  ! "  By  this  time  he  had  taken  a  chair 
on  the  hearth  between  them. 

"  Never  felt  such  an  evil  spirit  in  the  whole  course  of  my 
life  !  There  !  I  tell  you  !  I  could  a' most  have  cut  my  own 
connection.  Like  the  dealer  in  my  country,  away  West,  who 
when  he  had  let  himself  be  outdone  in  a  bargain,  said  to  him- 
self, 'Now  1  tell  you  what!  I'll  never  speak  to  you  again.' 
And  he  never  did,  but  joined  a  settlement  of  oysters,  and  trans- 
lated the  multiplication-table  into  their  language, — which  is  a 
fact  that  can  be  proved.  If  you  doubt  it,  mention  it  to  any 
oyster  you  come  across,  and  see  if  he'll  have  the  face  to  con- 
tradict it." 

He  took  the  child  from  her  mother's  lap  and  set  it  on  his 
knee. 

"Not  a  bit  afraid  of  me  now,  you  see.  Knows  I  am  fond 
of  small  people.  I  have  a  child,  and  she's  a  girl,  and  I  sing  to 
her  sometimes." 

"What  do  you  sing?"  asked  Margaret. 

"  Not  a  long  song,  my  dear. 

Silas  Jorgan 
Played  the  organ. 

That's  about  all.  And  sometimes  I  tell  her  stories, — stories 
of  sailors  supposed  to  be  lost,  and  recovered  after  all  hope 
was  abandoned."  Here  the  captain  musingly  went  back  to 
his  song, 

Silas  Jorgan 

Played  the  organ; 

repeating  it  with  his  eyes  on  the  fire,  as  he  softly  danced  the 
child  on  his  knee.  For  he  felt  that  Margaret  had  stopped 
working. 


374 


A   MESSAGE   FROM   THE   SEA. 


— "Yes,"  said  the  captain,  still  looking  at  the  fire.  "I  make 
up  stories  and  tell  'em  to  that  child.  Stories  of  shipwreck  on 
desert  island,  and  long  delay  in  getting  back  to  civilized  lands. 
It  is  to  stories  the  like  of  that  mostly,  that 

Silas  Jorgan 
Played  the  organ." 

There  was  no  light  in  the  room  but  the  light  of  the  fire  ;  for 
the  shades  of  night  were  on  the  village,  and  the  stars  had  be- 
gun to  peep  out  of  the  sky  one  by  one,  as  the  houses  of  the 
village  peeped  out  from  among  the  foliage  when  the  night  de- 
parted. The  captain  felt  that  Margaret's  eyes  were  upon  him, 
and  thought  it  discreetest  to  keep  his  own  eyes  on  the  fire. 

"Yes;  I  make  'em  up,"  said  the  captain.  "I  make  up 
stories  of  brothers  brought  together  by  the  good  providence 
of  God.  Of  sons  brought  back  to  mothers, — husbands  brought 
"back  to  wives, — fathers  raised  from  the  deep,  for  little  children 
like  herself." 

Margaret's  touch  was  on  his  arm,  and  he  could  not  choose 
but  look  round  now.  Next  moment  her  hand  moved  implor- 
ingly to  his  breast,  and  she  was  on  her  knees  before  him, — 
supporting  the  mother,  who  was  also  kneeling. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  the  captain.  "What's  the  mat- 
ter? 

Silas  Jorgan 
Played  the—" 

jgtheir  looks  and  tears  were  too  much  for  him,  and  he  could 
hotTlush  the  song,  short  as  it  was. 

"  Mistress  Margaret,  you  have  borne  ill  fortune  well.  Could 
you  bear  good  fortune  equally  well,  if  it  was  to  come  ?  ' 

"  I  hope  so.  I  thankfully  and  humbly  and  earnestly  hope 
so  !  " 

"  Wa'al,  my  dear,"  said  the  captain,  "p'r'aps  it  has  come. 
He's — don't  be  frightened— shall  I  say  the  word  ?  " 

'■'Alive?" 

"Yes!" 

The  thanks  they  fervently  addressed  to  Heaven  were  again 
too  much  for  the  captain,  who  openly  took  out  his  handker- 
chief and  dried  his  eyes. 

"  He's  no  further  off,"  resumed  the  captain,  "  than  my 
country.  Indeed,  he's  no  further  off  than  his  own  native 
country.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  he's  no  further  off  than  Fal- 
mouth.    Indeed,  I  doubt  if  he's  quite  so  fur.     Indeed,  if  you 


THE  RESTITUTION. 


375 


was  quite  sure  you  could  bear  it  nicely,  and  I  was  to  do  no 
more  than  whistle  for  him — " 

The  captain's  trust  was  discharged.  A  rush  came,  and  they 
were  all  together  again. 

This  was  a  fine  opportunity  for  Tom  Pettifer  to  appear  with 
a  tumbler  of  cold  water,  and  he  presently  appeared  with  it, 
and  administered  it  to  the  ladies;  at  the  same  time  soothing 
them,  and  composing  their  dresses,  exactly  as  if  they  had  been 
passengers  crossing  the  Channel.  The  extent  to  which  the 
captain  slapped  his  legs,  when  Mr.  Pettifer  acquitted  himself 
of  this  act  of  stewardship,  could  have  been  thoroughly  appre- 
ciated by  no  one  but  himself;  inasmuch  as  he  must  have  slapped 
them  black  and  blue,  and  they  must  have  smarted  tremen- 
dous!}'. 

He  couldn't  stay  for  the  wedding,  having  a  few  appointments 
to  keep  at  the  irreconcilable  distance  of  about  four  thousand 
miles.  So  next  morning  all  the  village  cheered  him  up  to  the 
level  ground  above,  and  there  he  shook  hands  with  a  complete 
Census  of  its  population,  and  invited  the  whole  without  excep- 
tion, to  come  and  stay  several  months  with  him  at  Salem, 
Mass.,  U.  S.  And  there  as  he  stood  on  the  spot  where  he  had 
seen  that  little  golden  picture  of  love  and  parting,  and  from 
which  he  could  that  morning  contemplate  another  golden  pic- 
ture with  a  vista  of  golden  years  in  it.  little  Kitty  put  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  and  kissed  him  on  both  his  bronzed  cheeks, 
and  laid  her  pretty  face  upon  his  storm-beaten  breast,  in  sight 
of  all, — ashamed  to  have  called  such  a  noble  captain  names. 
And  there  the  captain  waved  his  hat  over  his  head  three  final 
times  ;  and  there  he  was  last  seen,  going  away  accompanied  by 
Tom  Pettifer  Ho,  and  carrying  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  And 
there,  before  that  ground  was  softened  with  the  fallen  leaves  of 
three  more  summers,  a  rosy  little  boy  took  his  first  unsteady 
run  to  a  fair  young  mother's  breast,  and  the  name  of  that  infant 
fisherman  was  Jorgan  Raybrock. 


FULL    REPORT 


OF  THE  FIRST  MEETING  OF  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION 
FOR  THE  ADVANCEMENT  OF  EVERYTHING. 

IE  have  made  the  most  unparalleled  and  extraordinary 
exertions  to  place  before  our  readers  a  complete  and 
accurate  account  of  the  proceedings  at  the  late  grand 
meeting  of  the  Mudfog  Association,  holden  in  the 
town  of  Mudfog:  it  affords  us  great  happiness  to  lay  the  result 
before  them,  in  the  shape  of  various  communications  received 
from  our  able,  talented,  and  graphic  correspondent,  expressly 
sent  down  for  the  purpose,  who  has  immortalized  us,  himself, 
Mudfog,  and  the  association,  all  at  one  and  the  same  time. 
We  have  been,  indeed,  for  some  days  unable  to  determine  who 
will  transmit  the  greatest  name  to  posterity, — ourselves,  who 
sent  our  correspondent  down  ;  our  correspondent,  who  wrote 
an  account  of  the  matter  ;  or  the  association,  who  gave  our 
correspondent  something  to  write  about.  We  rather  incline  to 
the  opinion  that  we  are  the  greatest  man  of  the  party,  inasmuch 
as  the  notion  of  an  exclusive  and  authentic  report  originated 
with  us  ;  this  may  be  prejudice  ;  it  may  arise  from  a  preposses- 
sion on  our  part  in  our  own  favor.  Be  it  so.  We  have  no 
doubt  that  every  gentleman  concerned  in  this  mighty  assem- 
blage is  troubled  with  the  same  complaint  in  a  greater  or  less 
degree ;  and  it  is  a  consolation  to  us  to  know  that  we  have  at 
least  this  feeling  in  common  with  the  greatest  scientific  stars,  the 
brilliant  and  extraordinary  luminaries,  whose  speculations  we 
record. 

We  give  our  correspondent's  letters  in  the  order  in  which 
they  reached  us.  Any  attempt  at  amalgamating  them  into  one 
beautiful  whole  would  only  destroy  that  glowing  tone,  that  dash 
of  wildness,  and  rich  vein  of  picturesque  interest,  which  pervade 
them  throughout. 

"  Mudfog,  Monday  night,  seven  o'clock. 

"  We  are  in  a  state  of  great  excitement  here.  Nothing  is 
spoken  of  but  the  approaching  meeting  of  the  association.     The 


REPORT  OF  FIRST  MEETING. 


377 


in-doors  are  thronged  with  waiters  anxiously  looking  for  the  ex- 
pected arrivals  ;  and  the  numerous  bills  which  are  wafered  up 
in  the  windows  of  private  houses,  intimating  that  there  are  beds 
to  let  within,  give  the  streets  a  very  animated  and  cheerful  ap- 
pearance, the  wafers  being  of  a  great  variety  of  colors,  and  the 
monotony  of  printed  inscriptions  being  relieved  by  every  possi- 
ble size  and  style  of  handwriting.  It  is  confidently  rumoured 
that  Professors  Snore,  Doze,  and  Wheezy  have  engaged  three 
beds  and  a  sitting-room  at  the  Pig  and  Tinder-Box.  I  give  you 
the  rumour  as  it  has  reached  me  ;  but  I  cannot,  as  yet,  vouch 
for  its  accuracy.  The  moment  I  have  been  enabled  to  obtain 
any  certain  information  upon  this  interesting  point,  you  may  de- 
pend upon  receiving  it." 

*'  Half  past  seven. 

"  I  have  just  returned  from  a  personal  interview  with  the 
landlord  of  the  Pig  and  Tinder-Box.  He  speaks  confidently  of 
the  probability  of  Professors  Snore,  Doze,  and  Wheezy  taking 
up  their  residence  at  his  house  during  the  sitting  of  the  associa- 
tion, but  denies  that  the  beds  have  been  yet  engaged  ;  in  which 
representation  he  is  confirmed  by  the  chambermaid. — a  girl  of 
artless  manners  and  interesting  appearance.  The  boots  denies 
that  it  is  at  all  likely  that  Professors  Snore,  Doze,  and  Wheezy 
will  put  up  here  ;  but  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  this  man 
has  been  suborned  by  the  proprietor  of  the  Original  Pig,  which 
is  the  opposition  hotel.  Amidst  such  conflicting  testimony  it  is 
difficult  to  arrive  at  the  real  truth  ;  but  you  may  depend  upon 
receiving  authentic  information  upon  this  point  the  moment  the 
fact  is  ascertained.  The  excitement  stilt  continues.  A  boy  fell 
through  the  window  of  the  pastrycook's  shop  at  the  corner  of 
the  High  Street  about  an  hour  ago,  which  has  occasioned  much 
confusion.  The  general  impression  is,  that  it  was  an  accident. 
Pray  Heaven  it  may  prove  so  !  " 

"  Tuesday  noon. 

"At  an  early  hour  this  morning  the  bells  of  all  the  churches 
struck  seven  o'clock  ;  the  effect  of  which,  in  the  present  lively 
state  of  the  town,  was  extremely  singular.  While  I  was  at 
breakfast,  a  yellow  gig,  drawn  by  a  dark  gray  horse,  with  a  patch 
of  white  over  his  right  eyelid,  proceeded  at  a  rapid  pace  in  the 
direction  of  the  Original  Pig  stables  ;  it  is  currently  reported 
that  this  gentleman  has  arrived  here  for  the  purpose  of  attend- 
ing the  association,  and,  from  what  I  have  heard,  I  consider  it 
extremely  probable,  although  nothing  decisive  is  yet  known  re- 


378  THE  3IUDF0G   ASSOCIATION. 

garding  him.  You  may  conceive  the  anxiety  with  which  we  are 
all  looking  forward  to  the  arrival  of  the  four  o'clock  coach  this 
afternoon. 

"  Notwithstanding  the  excited  state  of  the  populace,  no  out- 
rage has  yet  been  committed,  owing  to  the  admirable  discipline 
and  discretion  of  the  police,  who  are  nowhere  to  be  seen.  A 
barrel-organ  is  playing  opposite  my  window,  and  groups  of  peo- 
ple, offering  fish  and  vegetables  for  sale,  parade  the  streets. 
With  these  exceptions  everything  is  quiet,  and  I  trust  will  con- 
tinue so." 

"  Five  o'clock. 

"  It  is  now  ascertained  beyond  all  doubt  that  Professors 
Snore,  Doze,  and  Wheezy,  will  not  repair  to  the  Pig  and  Tin- 
der-Box, but  have  actually  engaged  apartments  at  the  Original 
Pig.  This  intelligence  is  exclusive  ;  and  I  leave  you  and  your 
readers  to  draw  their  own  inferences  from  it.  Why  Professor 
Wheezy,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  should  repair  to  the  Origi- 
nal Pig  in  preference  to  the  Pig  and  Tinder-Box,  it  is  not  easy 
to  conceive.  The  professor  is  a  man  who  should  be  above  all 
such*  petty  feelings.  Some  people  here  openly  impute  treach- 
ery and  a  distinct  breach  of  Faith  to  Professors  Snore  and  Doze  ; 
while  others,  again,  are  disposed  to  acquit  them  of  any  culpabil- 
ity in  the  transaction,  and  to  insinuate  that  the  blame  rests 
solely  with  Professor  Wheezy.  I  own  that  I  incline  to  the  lat- 
ter opinion  ;  and,  although  it  gives  me  great  pain  to  speak  in 
terms  of  censure  or  disapprobation  of  a  man  of  such  transcen- 
dent genius  and  acquirements,  still  I  am  bound  to  say,  that  if 
my  suspicions  be  well  founded,  and  if  all  the  reports  which  have 
reached  my  ears  be  true,  I  really  do  not  well  know  what  to 
make  of  the  matter. 

"  Mr.  Slug,  so  celebrated  for  his  statistical  researches,  arrived 
this  afternoon  by  the  four  o'clock  stage.  His  complexion  is  a 
dark  purple,  and  he  has  a  habit  of  sighing  constantly.  He 
looked  extremely  well,  and  appeared  in  high  health  and  spirits. 
Mr.  Woodensconce  also  came  down  in  the  same  conveyance. 
The  distinguished  gentleman  was  fast  asleep  on  his  arrival,  and 
I  am  informed  by  the  guard  that  he  had  been  so  the  whole  way. 
He  was,  no  doubt,  preparing  for  his  approaching  fatigues;  but 
what  gigantic  visions  must  those  be,  that  flit  through  the  brain 
of  such  a  man,  when  his  body  is  in  a  stats  of  torpidity  ! 

"The  influx  of  visitors  increases  every  moment.  I  am  told 
(I  know  not  how  truly)  that  two  post-chaises  have  arrived  at 
the  Original  Pig  within  the  last  half-hour  ;   and  I  myself  ob- 


REPORT  OF  FIRST  MEETING. 


379 


served  a  wheelbarrow,  containing  three  carpet-bags  and  a  bun- 
dle, entering  the  yard  of  the  Pig  and  Tinder- Box  no  longer  ago 
than  five  minutes  since.  The  people  are  still  quietly  pursuing 
their  ordinary  occupations  ;  but  there  is  a  wildness  in  their  eyes, 
and  an  unwonted  rigidity  in  the  muscles  of  their  countenances, 
which  shows  to  the  observant  spectator  that  their  expectations 
are  strained  to  the  very  utmost  pitch.  I  fear,  unless  some  very 
extraordinary  arrivals  take  place  to-night,  that  consequences 
may  arise  from  this  popular  ferment,  which  every  man  of  sense 
and  feeling  would  deplore." 

"Twenty  minutes  past  six. 

"  I  have  just  heard  that  the  boy  who  fell  through  the  pastry- 
cook's window  last  night  has  died  of  the  fright.  He  was  sud- 
denly called  upon  to  pay  three  and  sixpence  for  the  damage 
done,  and  his  constitution,  it  seems,  was  not  strong  enough  to 
bear  up  against  the  shock.  The  inquest,  it  is  said,  will  be  held 
to-morrow." 

"  Three  quarters  past  seven. 

"Professors  Muff  and  Nogo  have  just  driven  up  to  the  hotel 
door ;  they  at  once  ordered  dinner  with  great  condescension. 
We  are  all  very  much  delighted  with  the  urbanity  of  their  man- 
ners, and  the  ease  with  which  they  adapt  themselves  to  the 
forms  and  ceremonies  of  ordinary  life.  Immediately  on  their 
arrival  they  sent  for  the  head-waiter,  and  privately  requested  him 
to  purchase  alive  dog, — as  cheap  a  one  as  he  could  meet  with, 
— and  to  send  him  up  after  dinner,  with  a  pie-board,  a  knife 
and  fork,  and  a  clean  plate.  It  is  conjectured  that  some  exper- 
iments will  be  tried  upon  the  dog  to  night  ;  if  any  particulars 
should  transpire  I  will  forward  them  by  express." 

"Half  past  eight. 

"The  animal  has  been  procured.  He  is  a  pug-dog,  of  rather 
intelligent  appearance,  in  good  condition,  and  with  very  short 
legs.  He  has  been  tied  to  a  curtain-peg  in  a  dark"  room,  and 
is  howling  dreadfully." 

"  Ten  minutes  to  nine. 

"The  dog  has  just  been  rung  for.  With  an  instinct  which 
would  appear  almost  the  result  of  reason,  the  sagacious  animal 
seized  the  waiter  by  the  calf  of  the  leg  when  he  approached  to 
take  him  and  made  a  desperate  though  ineffectual  resistance. 


38o 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 


I  have  not  been  able  to  procure  admission  to  the  apartment 
occupied  by  the  scientific  gentlemen  ;  but,  judging  from  the 
sounds  which  readied  my  ears  when  I  stood  upon  the  landing- 
place  just  now  outside  the  door,  I  should  be  disposed  to  say 
that  the  dog  had  retreated  growling  beneath  some  article  of 
furniture,  and  was  keeping  the  professors  at  bay.  This  con- 
jecture is  confirmed  by  the  testimony  of  the  ostler,  who,  after 
peeping  through  the  key-hole,  assures  me  that  he  distinctly  saw 
Professor  Nogo  on  his  knees,  holding  forth  a  small  bottle  of 
prussic  acid,  to  which  the  animal,  who  was  crouched  beneath 
an  arm-chair,  obstinately  declined  to  smell.  You  cannot  imagine 
the  feverish  state  of  irritation  we  are  in,  lest  the  interests  of 
science  should  be  sacrificed  to  the  prejudices  of  a  brute 
creature,  who  is  not  endowed  with  sufficient  sense  to  foresee 
the  incalculable  benefits  which  the  whole  human  race  may  de- 
rive from  so  very  slight  a  concession  on  his  part." 

"Nine  o'clock. 

"  The  dog's  tail  and  ears  have  been  sent  down  stairs  to  be 
washed  ;  from  which  circumstance  we  infer  that  the  animal  is 
no  more.  His  forelegs  have  been  delivered  to  the  boots  to  be 
brushed,  which  strengthens  the  supposition." 

"Half  after  ten. 

"  My  feelings  are  so  overpowered  by  what  has  taken  place 
in  the  course  of  die  last  hour  and  a  half,  that  I  have  scarcely 
strength  to  detail  the  rapid  succession  of  events  which  have 
quite  bewildered  all  those  who  are  cognizant  of  their  occur- 
rence. It  appears  that  the  pug-dog  mentioned  in  my  last  was 
surreptitiously  obtained, — stolen,  in  fact, — by  some  person 
attached  to  the  stable  department,  from  an  unmarried  lady 
resident  in  this  town.  Frantic  on  discovering  the  loss  of  her 
favourite,  the  lady  rushed  distractedly  into  the  street,  calling  in 
the  most  heart-rending  and  pathetic  manner  upon  the  passen- 
gers to  restore  her  her  Augustus, — for  so  the  deceased  was 
named,  in  affectionate  remembrance  of  a  former  lover  of  his 
mistress,  to  whom  he  bore  a  striking  personal  resemblance, 
which  renders  the  circumstances  additionally  affecting.  I  am 
not  yet  in  a  condition  to  inform  you  what  circumstances  in- 
duced the  be.-eav.ed  lady  to  direct  her  steps  to  the  hotel  which 
had  witnessed  the  last  struggles  of  her  protege.  I  can  only 
state  that  she  arrived  there,  at  the  very  instant  when  his  de- 
tached members  were  passing  through  the  passage  on  a  small 


REPORT  OF  FIRST  MEETING.  ^8 1 

tray.  Her  shrieks  still  reverberate  in  my  ears  !  I  grieve  to 
say  that  the  expressive  features  of  Professor  Muff  were  much 
scratched  and  lacerated  by  the  injured  lady  ;  and  that  Pro- 
fessor Nogo,  besides  sustaining  several  severe  bites,  has  lost 
some  haiidfuls  of  hair  from  the  same  cause.  It  must  be  some 
consolation  to  these  gentlemen  to  know  that  their  ardent  at- 
tachment to  scientific  pursuits  has  alone  occasioned  these  un- 
pleasant consequences;  for  which  the  sympathy  of  a  grateful 
country  will  sufficiently  reward  them.  The  unfortunate  lady 
remains  at  the  Pig  and  Tinder-Box,  and  up  to  this  time  is  re- 
ported in  a  very  pecarious  state. 

"  I  need  scarcely  tell  you  that  this  unlooked-for  catastrophe 
has  cast  a  damp  and  gloom  upon  us  in  the  midst  of  our  ex- 
hilaration ;  natural  in  any  case,  but  greatly  enhanced  in  this, 
by  the  amiable  qualities  of  the  deceased  animal,  who  appears 
to  have  been  much  and  deservedly  respected  by  the  whole  of 
his  acquaintance." 

"  Twelve  o'clock. 

"  I  take  the  last  opportunity  before  sealing  my  parcel  to  in- 
form you  that  the  boy  who  fell  through  the  pastry-cook's  win- 
dow is  not  dead,  as  was  universally  believed,  but  alive  and 
well.  The  report  appears  to  have  had  its  origin  in  his  mysteri- 
ous disappearance.  He  was  found  half  an  hour  since  on  the 
premises  of  a  sweet-stuff  maker,  where  a  raffle  had  been  an- 
nounced for  a  second-hand  sealskin  cap  and  a  tamborine ; 
and  where — a  sufficient  number  of  members  not  having  been 
obtained  at  first — he  had  patiently  waited  until  the  list  was 
completed.  This  fortunate  discovery  had  in  some  degree  .re- 
stored our  gayety  and  cheerfulness.  It  is  proposed  to  get  up  a 
subscription  for  him  without  delay. 

"  Everybody  is  nervously  anxious  to  see  what  to-morrow  will 
bring  forth.  If  any  one  should  arrive  in  the  course  of  the 
night,  I  have  left  strict  directions  to  be  called  immediately.  I 
should  have  sat  up,  indeed,  but  the  agitating  events  of  this  day 
have  been  too  much  for  me. 

"  No  news,  yet,  of  either  of  the  Professors  Snore,  Doze,  or 
Wheezy.     It  is  very  strange  !  " 

"  Wednesday  afternoon. 

"All  is  now  over  ;  and,  upon  one  point  at  least,  I  am  at 
length  enabled  to  set  the  minds  of  your  readers  at  rest.  The 
three  professors  arrived  at  ten  minutes  after  two  o'clock,  and, 


-82  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

instead  of  taking  up  their  quarters  at  the  Original  Pig,  as  it 
was  universally  understood  in  the  course  of  yesterday  that  they 
would  assuredly  have  done,  drove  straight  to  the  Pig  and  Tin- 
der-Box, where  they  threw  off  the  mask  at  once,  and  openly 
announced  their  intention  of  remaining.  Professor  Wheezy 
may  reconcile  this  very  extraordinary  conduct  with  his  notions 
of  fair  and  equitable  dealing,  but  I  would  recommend  Pro- 
fessor Wheezy  to  be  cautious  how  he  presumes  too  far  upon  his 
well-earned  reputation.  How  such  a  man  as  Professor  Snore, 
or,  which  is  still  more  extraordinary,  such  an  individual  as  Pro- 
fessor Doze,  can  quietly  allow  himself  to  be  mixed  up  with 
such  proceedings  as  these,  you  will  naturally  inquire.  Upon 
this  head,  rumor  is  silent ;  I  have  my  speculations,  but  forbear 
to  give  utterance  to  them  just  now." 

"  Four  o'clock. 

"  The  town  is  filling  fast ;  eighteen  pence  has  been  offered 
for  a  bed  and  refused.  Several  gentlemen  were  under  the 
necessity  last  night  of  sleeping  in  the  brick  fields,  and  on  the 
steps  of  doors,  for  which  they  were  taken  before  the  magistrates 
in  a  body  this  morning,  and  committed  to  prison  as  vagrants 
for  various  terms.  One  of  these  persons  1  understand  to  be  a 
highly  respectable  tinker,  of  great  practical  skill,  who  had  for- 
warded a  paper  to  the  president  of  Section  D,  Mechanical 
Science,  on  the  construction  of  pipkins  with  copper  bottoms 
and  safety-valves,  of  which  report  speaks  highly.  The  incar- 
ceration of  this  gentleman  is  greatly  to  be  regretted,  as  his  ab- 
sence will  preclude  any  discussion  on  the  subject. 

"  The  bills  are  being  taken  down  in  all  directions,  and  lodg- 
ings are  being  secured  on  almost  any  terms.  I  have  heard  of 
fifteen  shillings  a  week  for  two  rooms,  exclusive  of  coals  and 
attendance,  but  I  can  scarcely  believe  it.  The  excitement  is 
dreadful.  I  was  informed  this  morning  that  the  civil  authori- 
ties, apprehensive  of  some  outbreak  of  popular  feeling,  had 
commanded  a  recruiting  sergeant  and  two  corporals  to  be  under 
arms  ;  and  that,  with  the  view  of  not  irritating  the  people  un- 
necessarily by  their  presence,  they  had  been  requested  to  take 
up  their  position  before  daybreak  in  a  turnpike,  distant  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  town.  The  vigour  and  prompt- 
ness of  these  measures  cannot  be  too  highly  extolled. 

"Intelligence  has  just  been  brought  me,  that  an  elderly 
female,  in  a  state  of  inebriety,  has  declared  in  the  open  street 
her  intention  to  '  do '  for  Mr.   Slug.     Some  statistical  returns 


REPORT  OF  FIRST  MEETING. 


333 


compiled  by  that  gentleman,  relative  to  the  consumption  of 
raw  spirituous  liquors  in  this  place,  are  supposed  to  be  the 
cause  of  the  wretch's  animosity.  It  is  added,  that  this  declara- 
tion was  loudly  cheered  by  a  crowd  of  persons  who  had  as- 
sembled on  the  spot ;  and  that  one  man  had  the  boldness  to 
designate  Mr.  Slug  aloud  by  the  opprobrious  epithet  of  '  Stick- 
in  die-mud  !'  It  is  earnestly  to  be  hoped  that  now,  when  the 
moment  has  arrived  for  their  interference,  the  magistrates  will 
not  shrink  from  the  exercise  of  that  power  which  is  vested  in 
them  by  the  constitution  of  our  common  country." 

"Half  past  ten. 

'•  The  disturbance,  I  am  happy  to  inform  you,  has  been  com 
pletely  quelled,  and  the  ringleader  taken  into  custody.  She 
had  a  pail  of  cold  water  thrown  over  her,  previous  to  being 
locked  up,  and  expresses  great  contrition  and  uneasiness.  We 
are  all  in  a  fever  of  anticipation  about  to-morrow  ;  but,  now 
that  we  are  within  a  few  hours  of  the  meeting  of  the  associa- 
tion, and  at  last  enjoy  the  proud  consciousness  of  having  its 
illustrious  members  amongst  us,  I  trust  and  hope  everything 
may  go  off  peaceably.  I  shall  send  you  a  full  report  of  to- 
morrow's proceedings  by  the  night  coach." 

"  Eleven  o'clock. 

"I  open  my  letter  to  say  that  nothing  whatever  has  occurred 
since  I  folded  it  up." 

"  Thursday. 

"  The  sun  rose  this  morning  at  the  usual  hour.  I  did  not 
observe  anything  particular  in  the  aspect  of  the  glorious  planet, 
except  that  he  appeared  to  me  (it  might  have  been  a  delusion 
of  my  heightened  fancy)  to  shine  with  more  than  common  bril- 
liancy, and  to  shed  a  refulgent  lustre  upon  the  town,  such  as  I 
had  never  observed  before.  This  is  the  more  extraordinary, 
as  the  sky  was  perfectly  cloudless,  and  the  atmosphere  pecu- 
liarly fine.  At  half  past  nine  o'clock  the  general  committee 
assembled,  with  the  last  year's  president  in  the  chair.  The  re- 
port of  the  council  was  read  ;  and  one  passage,  which  stated 
that  the  council  had  corresponded  with  no  less  than  three 
thousand  five  hundred  and  seventy-one  persons  (all  of  whom 
paid  their  own  postage)  on  no  fewer  than  seven  thousand  two 
hundred  and  forty-three  topics,  was  received  with  a  degree  of 
enthusiasm  which  no  effort  could  suppress.     The  various  com- 


384  THE  MUDFOG   ASSOCIATION. 

mitteesand  sections  having  been  appointed,  and  the  mere  for- 
mal business  transacted,  the  great  proceedings  of  the  meeting 
commenced  at  eleven  o'clock  precisely.  I  had  the  happiness 
of  occupying  a  most  eligible  position  at  that  time,  in 

"SECTION    A — ZOjLOGY    AND    BOTANY. 

"GREAT   ROOM,    PIG    AND   TINDER-BOX. 

"  PRESIDENT— PROFESSOR   SNORE.       VICE-PRESIDENTS — 

"PROFESSORS   DOZE    AND    WHEEZY. 

"  The  scene  at  this  moment  was  particularly  striking.  The 
sun  streamed  through  the  windows  of  the  apartments,  and 
tinted  the  whole  scene  with  its  brilliant  rays,  bringing  out  in 
strong  relief  the  noble  visages  of  the  professors  and  scientific 
gentlemen,  who,  some  with  bald  heads,  some  with  red  heads, 
some  with  brown  heads,  some  with  gray  heads,  some  with  black 
heads,  some  with  block  heads,  presented  a  coup-d'ceil  which  no 
eye-witness  will  readily  forget.  In  front  of  these  gentlemen 
were  papers  and  inkstands  ;  and  round  the  room,  on  elevated 
benches  extending  as  far  as  the  forms  could  reach,  were  assem- 
bled a  brilliant  concourse  of  those  lovely  and  elegant  women 
for  which  Mud  fog  is  justly  acknowledged  to  be  without  a  rival 
in  the  whole  world.  The  contrast  between  their  fair  faces  and 
the  dark  coats  and  trousers  of  the  scientific  gentlemen  1  shall 
never  cease  to  remember  while  Memory  holds  her  seat. 

"Time  having  been  allowed  for  a  slight  confusion,  occa- 
sioned by  the  falling  down  of  the  greater  part  of  the  platforms, 
to  subside,  the  president  called  on  one  of  the  secretaries  to  read 
a  communication  entitled,  '  Some  remarks  on  the  industrious 
fleas,  with  considerations  on  the  importance  of  establishing  in- 
fant schools  among  that  numerous  class  of  society  ;  of  directing 
their  industry  to  useful  and  practical  ends  ;  and  of  applying  the 
surplus  fruits  thereof  towards  providing  for  them  a  comfortable 
and  respectable  maintenance  in  their  old  age.' 

"  The  Author  stated,  that,  having  long  turned  his  attention 
to  the  moral  and  social  condition  of  these  interesting  animals, 
he  had  been  induced  to  visit  our  exhibition  in  Regent  Street, 
London,  commonly  known  by  the  designation  of  'The  Indus- 
trious Fleas.'  He  had  there  seen  many  fleas,  occupied  cer- 
tainly in  various  pursuits  and  avocations,  but  occupied,  he  was 
bound  to  add,  in  a  manner  which  no  well-regulated  mind  could 
fail  to  regard  with  sorrow  and  regret.  One  flea,  reduced  to 
the  level  of  a  beast  of  burden,  was  drawing  about  a  miniature 
gig,  containing  a  particularly  small  effigy  of  His  Grace  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  ;  while  another  was  staggering  beneath  the 


REPORT  OF  FIRST  MEETING. 


385 


weight  of  a  golden  model  of  his  great  adversary  Napoleon 
Bonaparte.  Some,  brought  up  as  mountebanks  and  ballet- 
dancers,  were  performing  a  figure-dance  (he  regretted  to  ob- 
serve, that  of  the  fleas  so  employed,  several  were  females)  ; 
others  were  in  training,  in  a  small  card-board  box,  for  pedes- 
trians,—mere  sporting  characters, — and  two  were  actually  en- 
gaged in  the  cold-blooded  and  barbarous  occupation  of  duelling  ; 
a  pursuit  from  which  humanity  recoiled  with  honor  and  dis- 
gust. He  suggested  that  measures  should  be  immediately 
taken  to  employ  the  labour  of  these  fleas  as  part  and  parcel  of 
the  productive  power  of  the  country,  which  might  easily  be 
done  by  the  establishment  among  them  of  infant  schools  and 
houses  of  industry,  in  which  a  system  of  virtuous  education, 
based  upon  sound  principles,  should  be  observed,  and  moral 
precepts  strictly  inculcated.  He  proposed  that  every  flea  who 
presumed  to  exhibit,  for  hire,  music,  or  dancing,  or  any  species 
of  theatrical  entertainment,  without  a  license,  should  be  con- 
sidered a  vagabond,  and  treated  accordingly  ;  in  which  respect 
he  only  placed  him  upon  a  level  with  the  rest  of  mankind.  He 
would  further  suggest  that  their  labour  should  be  placed  under 
the  control  and  regulation  of  the  State,  who  should  set  apart 
from  the  profits  a  fund  for  the  support  of  superannuated  or  dis- 
abled fleas,  their  widows  and  orphans.  With  this  view,  he  pro- 
posed that  liberal  premiums  should  be  offered  for  the  three  best 
designs  for  a  general  almshouse  ;  from  which — as  insect  archi- 
tecture was  well  known  to  be  in  a  very  advanced  and  perfect 
state — -we  might  possibly  derive  many  valuable  hints  for  the 
improvement  of  our  metropolitan  universities,  national  galler- 
ies, and  other  public  edifices. 

"  The  President  wished  to  be  informed  how  the  ingenious 
gentleman  proposed  to  open  a  communication  with  fleas  gen- 
erally, in  the  first  instance,  so  that  they  might  be  thoroughly 
imbued  with  a  sense  of  the  advantages  they  must  necessarily 
derive  from  changing  their  mode  of  life,  and  applying  them- 
selves to  honest  labour.  This  appeared  to  him  the  only  diffi- 
culty. 

"The  Author  submitted  that  this  difficulty  was  easily  over- 
come, or  rather  that  there  was  no  difficulty  at  all  in  the  case. 
Obviously  the  course  to  be  pursued,  if  her  Majesty's  govern- 
ment could  be  prevailed  upon  to  take  up  the  plan,  would  be, 
to  secure  at  a  remunerative  salary  the  individual  to  whom  he 
had  alluded  as  presiding  over  the  exhibition  in  Regent  Street 
at  the  period  of  his  visit.  That  gentleman  would  at  once  be 
able  to  put  himself  in  communication  with  the  mass  of  the  fleas, 
17 


386  TffE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

and  to  instruct  them  in  pursuance  of  some  general  plan  of 
education,  to  be  sanctioned  by  Parliament,  until  such  time  as 
the  more  intelligent  among  them  were  advanced  enough  to 
officiate  as  teachers  to  the  lest. 

"  The  President  and  several  members  of  the  section  highly 
complimented  the  author  of  the  paper  last  read,  on  his  most 
ingenious  and  important  treatise.  It  was  determined  that  the 
subject  should  be  recommended  to  the  immediate  consideration 
of  the  council. 

"  Mr.  Wigsby  produced  a  cauliflower  somewhat  larger  than 
a  chaise-umbrella,  which  had  been  raised  by  no  other  artificial 
means  than  the  simple  application  of  highly  carbonated  soda- 
water  as  manure.  He  explained  that  by  scooping  out  the 
head,  which  would  afford  a  new  and  delicious  species  of  nour- 
ishment for  the  poor,  a  parachute,  in  principle  something  sim- 
ilar to  that  constructed  by  M.  Garnerin,  was  at  once  ob- 
tained ;  the  stalk  of  course  being  kept  downwards.  He  added 
that  he  was  perfectly  willing  to  make  a  descent  from  a  height 
of  not  less  than  three  miles  and  a  quarter;  and  had  in  fact 
already  proposed  the  same  to  the  proprietors  of  the  Vauxhall 
Gardens,  who  in  the  handsomest  manner  at  once  consented  to 
his  wishes,  and  appointed  an  early  day  next  summer  for  the 
undertaking  ;  merely  stipulating  that  the  rim  of  the  cauliflower 
should  be  previously  broken  in  three  or  four  places  to  insure 
the  safety  of  the  descent. 

"  The  President  congratulated  the  public  on  the  grand  gala 
in  store  for  them,  and  warmly  eulogized  the  proprietors  of  the 
establishment  alluded  to,  for  their  love  of  science,  and  regard 
for  the  safety  of  human  life,  both  of  which  did  them  the  highest 
honor. 

"A  Member  wished  to  know  how  many  thousand  additional 
lamps  the  royal  property  would  be  illuminated  with,  on  the 
night  after  the  descent. 

Mr.  Wigsby  replied  that  the  point  was  not  yet  finally  de- 
cided ;  but  he  believed  it  was  proposed,  over  and  above  the 
ordinary  illuminations,  to  exhibit  in  various  devices  eight  mil- 
lions and  a  half  of  additional  lamps. 

"  The  Member  expressed  himself  much  gratified  with  this  an- 
nouncement. 

"  Mr.  Blunderum  delighted  the  section  with  a  most  interest- 
ing and  valuable  paper  '  On  the  last  moments  of  the  Learned  Pig,' 
which  produced  a  very  strong  impression  upon  the  assembly,  the 
account  being  compiled  from  the  personal  recollections  of  his 
favorite  attendant.     The  account  stated  in  the  most  emphatic 


REPORT  OF  FIRST  MEETING.  387 

terms,  that  the  animal's  name  was  not  Toby,  but  Solomon  ; 
and  distinctly  proved  that  he  could  have  no  near  relatives 
in  the  profession,  as  many  designing  persons  had  falsely  stated, 
inasmuch  as  his  father,  mother,  brothers  and  sisters,  had  all 
fallen  victims  to  the  butcher  at  different  times.  An  uncle  of  his, 
indeed,  had  with  very  great  labor  been  traced  to  a  sty  in 
Somers  Town  ;  but  as  he  was  in  a  very  infirm  state  at  the 
time,  being  afflicted  with  measles,  and  shortly  afterwards  disap- 
peared, there  appeared  too  much  reason  to  conjecture  that  he  had 
been  converted  into  sausages.  The  disorder  of  the  learned  pig 
was  originally  a  severe  cold,  which,  being  aggravated  by  exces- 
sive trough  indulgence,  finally  settled  upon  the  lungs,  and  ter- 
minated in  a  general  decay  of  the  constitution.  A  melancholy 
instance  of  a  presentiment  entertained  by  the  animal  of  his  ap- 
proaching dissolution  was  recorded.  After  gratifying  a  numerous 
and  fashionable  company  with  his  performances,  in  which 
no  falling  off  whatever  was  visible,  he  fixed  his  eyes  on 
the  biographer,  and,  turning  to  the  watch  which  lay  on  the 
floor,  and  on  which  he  was  accustomed  to  point  out  the  hour, 
deliberately  passed  his  snout  twice  round  the  dial.  In  pre- 
cisely four-and-twenty  hours  from  that  time  he  had  ceased  to 
exist  ! 

"Professor  Wheezy  inquired  whether,  previous  to  his  demise, 
the  animal  had  expressed,  by  signs  or  otherwise,  any  wishes  re- 
garding the  disposal  of  his  little  property. 

"  Mr.  Blunderum  replied,  that,  when  the  biographer  took  up 
the  pack  of  cards  at  the  conclusion  of  the  performance,  the 
animal  grunted  several  times  in  asignificant  manner,  and  nodded 
his  head  as  he  was  accustomed  to  do,  when  gratified.  From 
these  gestures  it  was  understood  that  he  wished  the  attendant  to 
keep  the  cards,  which  he  had  ever  since  done.  He  had  not  ex- 
pressed any  wish  relative  to  his  watch,  which  had  accordingly 
been  pawned  by  the  same  individual. 

"  The  President  wished  to  know  whether  any  member  of  the 
section  had  ever  seen  or  conversed  with  the  pig-faced  lady,  who 
was  reported  to  have  worn  a  black  velvet  mask,  and  to  have 
taken  her  meals  from  a  golden  trough. 

"After  some  hesitation  a  Member  replied  that  the  pig-faced 
lady  was  his  mother-in-law,  and  that  he  trusted  the  president 
would  not  violate  the  sanctity  of  private  life. 

"  The  President  begged  pardon.  He  had  considered  the  pig- 
faced  lady  a  public  character.  Would  the  honorable  member 
object  to  state,  with  a  view  to  the  advancement  of  science, 
whether  she  was  in  any  way  connected  with  the  learned  pig? 


388  THE  MUDFOG   ASSOCIATION. 

"  The  Member  replied,  in  the  same  low  tone,  that,  as  the 
question  appeared  to  involve  a  suspicion  that  the  learned  pig 
might  be  his  half-brother,  he  must  decline  answering  it. 


"  SECTION  B. — ANATOMY  AND  MEDICINE. 
"COACH-HOUSE,  PIG  AND   TINDER-BOX. 
"PXE:iDliNT-D:i.    TOORELL        VICE-PRESIDENT — PROFESSORS 
MUFF  AND  NOGO. 

li  D:\  Kutankumagen  (of  Moscow)  read  to  the  section  a  re- 
port of  a  case  which  had  occurred  within  his  own  practice, 
strikingly  illustrative  of  the  power  of  medicine,  as  exemplified 
in  Ins  successful  treatment  of  a  virulent  disorder.  He  had  been 
called  in  to  visit  the  patient  on  the  ist  of  April,  1S37.  He  was 
then  laboring  under  symptoms  peculiarly  alarming  to  any  med- 
ical man.  His  frame  was  stout  and  muscular,  his  step  firm  and 
elastic,  his  cheeks  plump  and  red,  his  voice  loud,  his  appetite 
good,  his  pulse  full  and  round.  He  was  in  the  constant  habit 
of  eating  three  meals  per  diem,  and  of  drinking  at  least  one 
bottle  of  wine  and  one  glass  of  spirituous  liquors  diluted  with 
water,  in  the  course  of  the  four-and-twenty  hours.  He  laughed 
constantly,  and  in  so  hearty  a  manner  that  it  was  terrible  to  hear 
him.  By  dint  of  powerful  medicine,  low  diet  and  bleeding,  the 
symptoms  in  the  course  of  three  days  perceptibly  decreased. 
A  tigid  perseverance  in  the  same  course  of  treatment  for  only 
one  week,  accompanied  with  small  doses  of  water-gruel,  weak 
broth  and  barley  water,  led  to  their  entire  disappearance. 
In  the  course  of  a  month  he  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  be 
carried  down  stairs  by  two  nurses,  and  to  enjoy  an  airing 
in  a  close  carriage,  supported  by  soft  pilows.  At  the  present 
moment  he  was  restored  so  far  as  to  walk  about,  with  the 
slight  assistance  of  a  crutch  and  a  boy.  It  would  perhaps  be 
gratifying  to  the  section  to  learn  that  he  ate  little,  drank  little, 
slept  little,  and  was  never  heard  to  laugh  by  any  accident  what- 
ever. 

"  Dr.  W.  R.  Fee,  in  complimenting  the  honorable  member 
upon  the  triumphant  cure  he  had  effected,  begged  to  ask  whether 
the  patient  still  bled  freely  ? 

"  Dr.  Kutankumagen  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Dr.  W.  11.  Fee. — And  you  found  that  he  bled  freely  dur- 
ing the  whole  course  of  the  disorder? 

'•  Dr.  Kutankumagen. — O  dear,  yes;  mostly  freely. 

41  Dr.  Neeshawts  supposed,  that,  if  the  patient  had  not  sub- 
mitted to  be  bled  with  great  readiness  and  perseverance,  so  ex- 


REPORT  OF  FIRST  MEETING. 


3$9 


txaordinary  a  cure  could  never,  in  fact,  have  been  accomplished. 
Dr.  Kutankumagen  rejoined,  certainly  not. 

"  Mr.  Knight  Bell  (M.  R.  C.  S.)  exhibited  a  wax  preparation 
of  the  interior  of  a  gentleman  who,  in  early  life,  had  inadvert- 
ently swallowed  a  door-key.  It  was  a  curious  fact  that  a  med- 
ical student  of  dissipated  habits,  being  present  at  the  post  v 
examination,  found  means  to  escape  unobserved  from  the  roo  n 
with  that  portion  of  the  coats  of  the'stomach  upon  which  an  exact 
model  of  the  instrument  was  distinctly  impressed,  with  which  he 
hastened  to  a  locksmith  of  doubtful  character,  who  made  a  new 
ke)r  from  the  pattern  so  shown  to  him.  With  this  key  the  med- 
ical student  entered  the  house  of  the  deceased  gentleman,  and 
committed  a  burglary  to  a  large  amount,  for  which  he  was  sub- 
sequently tried  and  executed. 

"  The  President  wished  to  know  what  became  of  the  original 
key  after  the  lapse  of  years.  Mr.  Knight  Bell  replied  that  the 
gentleman  was  always  much  accustomed  to  punch,  and  it  was 
supposed  the  acid  had  gradually  devoured  it. 

"Dr.  Neeshawts  and  several  of  the  members  were  of  opinion 
that  the  key  must  have  lain  very  cold  and  heavy  upon  the  gentle- 
man's stomach. 

"Mr.  Knight  Bell  believed  it  did  at  first.  It  was  worthy 
of  remark,  perhaps,  that  for  some  years  the  gentleman  was 
troubled  with  nightmare,  under  the  influence  of  which  he  al- 
ways imagined  himself  a  wine-cellar  door. 

"Professor  Muff  related  a  very  extraordinary  and  convincing 
proof  of  the  wonderful  efficacy  of  the  system  of  infinitesimal 
doses,  which  the  section  were  doubtless  aware  was  based  upon  the 
theory  that  the  very  minutest  amount  of  any  given  drug,  prop- 
erly dispersed  through  the  human  frame,  would  be  productive 
of  precisely  the  same  result  as  a  very  large  dose  administered  in 
the  usual  manner.  Thus,  the  fortieth  part  of  a  grain  of  calo- 
mel was  supposed  to  be  equal  to  a  five-grain  calomel  pill,  and  so 
on  in  proportion  throughout  the  whole  range  of  medicine.  He 
had  tried  the  experiment  in  a  curious  manner  upon  a  publican, 
who  had  been  brought  into  the  hospital  with  a  broken  head,  and 
was  cured  upon  the  infinitesimal  system  in  the  incredibly  short 
space  of  three  months.  This  man  was  a  hard  drinker.  He  (Pro- 
fessor Muff)  had  dispersed  three  drops  of  rum  through  a  bucket 
of  water,  and  requested  the  man  to  drink  the  whole.  What  was 
the  result  ?  Before  he  had  drunk  a  quart,  he  was  in  a  state  of 
beastly  intoxication  ;  and  five  other  men  were  made  dead-drunk 
with  the  remainder. 

"  The  President  wished  to  know  whether  an  infinitesimal  dose 


390  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

of  soda-water  would  have  recovered  them?  Professor  Muff  re- 
plied that  the  twenty-fifth  part  of  a  teaspoonful,  properly  ad- 
ministered to  each  patient,  would  have  sobered  him  immedi- 
ately. The  President  remarked  that  this  was  a  most  important 
discovery,  and  he  hoped  the  Lord  Mayor  and  Court  of  Alder- 
men would  patronize  it  immediately. 

"  A  member  begged  to  be  informed  whether  it  would  be  possi- 
ble to  administer,— say,  the' twentieth  part  of  a  grain  of  bread 
and  cheese  to  all  grown-up  paupers,  and  the  fortieth  part  to 
children,  with  the  same  satisfying  effect  as  their  present  allow- 
ance. 

"Professor  Muff  was  willing  to  stake  his  professional  reputa- 
tion on  the  perfect  adequacy  of  such  a  quantity  of  food  to  the 
support  of  human  life, — in  workhouses;  the  addition  of  the 
fifteenth  part  of  a  grain  of  pudding  twice  a  week,  would  render 
it  a  high  diet. 

"  Professor  Nogo  called  the  attention  of  the  section  to  a  very 
extraordinary  case  of  animal  magnetism.  A  private  watchman, 
being  merely  looked  at  by  the  operator  from  the  opposite  side 
of  a  wide  street,  was  at  once  observed  to  be  in  a  very  drowsy 
and  languid  state.  He  was  followed  to  his  box,  and  being 
once  slightly  rubbed  on  the  palms  of  the  hands,  fell  into  a 
sound  sleep,  in  which  he  continued  without  intermission  for  ten 
hours. 

"SECTION  C — STATISTICS. 

"HAY-LOFT,  ORIGINAL  PIG. 

"  PRESIDENT — MR.  WOODENSCONSE.       VICE-PRESIDENTS — MR.  LEDBRAIN 

AND  MR.   TIMBERED. 

"  Mr.  Slug  stated  to  the  section  the  result  of  some  calcula- 
tions he  had  made  with  great  difficulty  and  labour,  regarding 
the  state  of  infant  education  among  the  middle  classes  of  Lon- 
don. He  found  that,  within  a  circle  of  three  miles  from  the 
Elephant  and  Castle,  the  following  were  the  names  and  num- 
bers of  children's  books  principally  in  circulation  : — 

"Jack  the  Giant-killer  .....  7,943 
Ditto  and  Bean-stalk  .  .  .  .  .8,621 
Ditto  and  Eleven  Brothers  ....  2,845 
Ditto  and  Jill 1,998 

Total  21,407 

"  He  found  that  the  proportion  of  Rsbinson  Crusoes  to  Philip 


REPORT  OF  FIRST  MEETING.  39 r 

Quarles  was  as  four  and  a  half  to  one  ;  and  that  the  preponder- 
ance of  Valentine  and  Otsons  over  Goody  Two  Shoeses  was 
as  three  and  an  eighth  of  the  former  to  half  a  one  of  the  latter  ; 
a  comparison  ©f  Seven  Champions  with  Simple  Simons  gave 
the  same  result.  The  ignorance  that  prevailed  was  lamentable. 
One  child,  on  being  asked  whether  he  would  rather  be  Saint 
George  of  England  or  a  respectable  tallow-chandler,  instantly 
replied,  'Taint  George  of  Ingling.'  Another,  a  little  boy  of 
eight  years  old,  was  found  to  be  firmly  impressed  with  a  belief 
in  the  existence  of  dragons,  and  openly  stated  that  it  was  his 
intention  when  he  grew  up,  to  rush  forth,  sword  in  hand,  for  the 
■deliverance  of  captive  princesses,  and  the  promiscuous  slaughter 
of  giants.  Not  one  child  among  the  number  interrogated  had 
ever  heard  of  Mungo  Park, — some  inquiring  whether  he  was  at 
all  connected  with  the  black  man  that  swept  the  crossing  ; 
and  others  whether  he  was  in  any  way  related  to  the  Regent's 
Park.  They  had  not  the  slightest  conception  of  the  common- 
est principles  of  mathematics,  and  considered  Sindbad  the  Sailor 
the  most  enterprising  voyager  that  the  world  had  ever  pro- 
duced. 

"  A  member,  strongly  deprecating  the  use  of  all  the  other 
books  mentioned,  suggested  that  Jack  and  Jill  might  perhaps 
be  exempted  from  the  general  censure,  inasmuch  as  the  hero 
and  heroine,  in  the  very  outset  of  the  tale,  were  depicted  as 
going  up  a  hill  to  fetch  a  pail  of  water,  which  was  a  laborious 
and  useful  occupation, — supposing  the  family  linen  was  being 
washed,  for  instance. 

"  Mr.  Slug  feared  that  the  moral  effect  of  this  passage 
was  more  than  counterbalanced  by  another  in  a  subsequent 
part  of  the  poem,  in  which  very  gross  allusion  was  made  to 
the  mode  in  which  the  heroine  was  personally  chastised  by  her 
mother 

"  '  For  laughing  at  Jack's  disaster ' ; 

besides,  the  whole  work  had  this  one  great  fault,  it  7vas  not 
true. 

"The  President  complimented  the  honorable  member  on 
the  excellent  distinction  he  had  drawn.  Several  others  mem- 
bers, too,  dwelt  upon  the  immense  and  urgent  necessity  of  stor- 
ing the  minds  of  children  with  nothing  but  facts  and  figures, 
which  process,  the  President  very  forcibly  remarked,  had  made 
then)  (the  section)  the  men  they  were. 

"  Mr.  Slug  then  stated  some  curious  calculations  respecting 


'392  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

the  dogs'-meat  barrows  of  London.  He  found  that  the  total 
number  of  small  carts  and  barrows  engaged  in  dispensing  pro- 
visions to  the  cats  and  dogs  of  the  metropolis,  was  one  thou- 
sand seven  hundred  and  forty-three.  The  average  number  of 
skewers  delivered  daily  with  the  provender,  by  each  dogs'-meat 
cart  or  barrow  was  thirty-six.  Now,  multiplying  the  number 
of  skewers  so  delivered,  by  the  number  of  barrows,  a  total  of 
sixty-two  thousand  seven  hundred  and  forty-eight  skewers  dailv 
would  be  obtained.  Allowing  that,  of  these  sixty-two  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  forty-eight  skewers,  the  odd  two  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  forty-eight  were  accidentally  devoured  with 
the  meat,  by  the  most  voracious  of  the  animals  supplied,  it  fol- 
lowed that  sixty  thousand  skewers  per  da)',  or  the  enormous 
number  of  twenty-one  millions  nine  hundred  thousand  skewers 
annually,  were  wasted  in  the  kennels  and  dust-holes  of  Lon- 
don ;  which,  if  collected  and  warehoused,  would,  in  ten  years' 
time,  afford  a  mass  of  timber  more  than  sufficient  for  the 
construction  of  a  first-rate  vessel  of  war  for  the  use  of  her 
Majesty's  navy,  to  be  called  '  The  Royal  Skewer,'  and  to  be- 
come, under  that  name,  the  terror  of  all  the  enemies  of  this 
Island. 

"Mr.  X.  Ledbrain  read  a  very  ingenious  communication, 
from  which  it  appeared  that  the  total  number  of  legs  belonging 
to  the  manufacturing  population  of  one  great  town  in  Yorkshire 
was,  in  round  numbers,  forty  thousand,  while  the  total  number 
of  chair  and  stool  legs  in  their  houses  was  only  thirty  thousand, 
which,  upon  the  very  favorable  average  of  three  legs  to  a  seat, 
yielded  only  ten  thousand  seats  in  all.  From  this  calculation 
it  would  appear, — not  taking  wooden  or  cork  legs  into  the  ac- 
count, but  allowing  two  legs  to  every  person, — that  ten  thou- 
sand individuals  (one  half  of  the  whole  population)  were  either 
destitute  of  any  rest  for  their  legs  at  all,  or  passed  the  whole  of 
their  leisure  time  in  sitting  upon  boxes. 


"  SECTION  D.  —  MECHANICAL  SCIENCE. 

"  COACH-HOUSE,  ORIGINAL  PIG. 

"PRESIDENT — MR.    CARTER.       VICE-PRESIDENTS — MR.    TRUCK    AND    MR. 

WAGHORN. 


"Professor  Queerspeck  exhibited  an  elegant  model  of  a  por- 
table railway,  neatly  mounted  in  a  green  case,  for  the  waistcoat 
pocket.  By  attaching  this  beautiful  instrument  to  his  boots, 
any  bank  or  public-office  clerk  could  transport  himself  from  his 
place  of  residence  to  his  place  of  business,  at  the  easy  rate  of 


RE  FORT  OF  FIRST  MEETING.  ■yg-y 

sixty-five  miles  an  hour,  which,  to  gentlemen  of  sedentary 
pursuits,  would  be  an  incalculable  advantage. 

"The  President  was  desirous  of  knowing  whether  it  was  nec- 
essary to  have  a  level  surface  on  which  the  gentleman  was  to 
run. 

"  Professor  Queerspeck  explained  that  City  gentlemen  would 
run  in  trains,  being  handcuffed  together  to  prevent  confusion 
or  unpleasantness.  For  instance,  trains  would  start  every  morn- 
ing at  eight,  nine,  and  ten  o'clock,  from  Camden  Town,  Isling- 
ton, Camberwell,  Hackney,  and  various  other  places  in  which 
City  gentlemen  are  accustomed  to  reside.  It  would  be  neces- 
sary to  have  a  level,  but  he  had  provided  for  this  difficulty  by 
proposing  that  the  best  line  that  the  circumstances  would  admit 
of  should  be  taken  through  the  sewers  which  undermine  the 
streets  of  the  metropolis,  and  which,  well-lighted  by  jets  from 
the  gas-pipes  which  run  immediately  above  them,  would  form  a 
pleasant  and  commodious  arcade,  especially  in  winter  time, 
when  the  inconvenient  custom  of  carrying  umbrellas,  now 
general,  could  be  wholly  dispensed  with.  In  reply  to  another 
question,  Professor  Queerspeck  stated  that  no  substitute  for 
the  purposes  to  which  these  arcades  were  at  present  devoted 
had  yet  occurred  to  him,  but  that  he  hoped  no  fanciful  objec- 
tion on  this  head  would  be  allowed  to  interfere  with  so  great 
an  undertaking. 

"  Mr.  Jobba  produced  a  forcing-machine  on  a  novel  plan, 
for  bringing  joint-stock  railway  shares  prematurely  to  a  pre- 
mium. The  instrument  was  in  the  form  of  an  elegant  gilt 
weather  glass  of  most  dazzling  appearance,  and  was  worked  be- 
hind, by  strings,  after  the  manner  of  a  pantomime  trick,  the 
strings  being  always  pulled  by  the  directors  of  the  company  to 
which  the  machine  belonged.  The  quicksilver  was  so  ingen- 
iously placed,  that  when  the  acting  directors  held  shares  in 
their  pockets,  figures  denoting  very  small  expenses  and  very 
large  returns  appeared  upon  the  glass  ;  but  the  moment  the 
directors  parted  with  these  pieces  of  paper,  the  estimate  of 
needful  expenditure  suddenly  increased  itself  to  an  immense 
extent,  while  the  statements  of  certain  profits  became  reduced 
in  the  same  proportion.  Mr.  Jobba  stated  that  die  machine 
had  been  in  constant  requisition  for  some  months  past,  and  he 
had  never  once  known  it  to  fail. 

"A  member  expressed  his  opinion  that  it  was  extremely 
neat  and  pretty.  He  wished  to  know  whether  it  was  not  liable 
to  accidental  derangement?  Mr.  Jobba  said  that  the  whole 
17* 


394  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

machine  was  undoubtedly  liable  to  be  blown  up,  but  that  was 
the  only  objection  to  it. 

"  Professor  Nogo  arrived  from  the  anatomical  section  to  ex- 
hibit a  model  of  a  safety  fire-escape,  which  could  be  fixed  at 
any  time,  in  less  than  half  an  hour,  and  by  means  of  which,  the 
youngest  or  most  infirm  persons  (successfully  resisting  the  prog- 
ress of  the  flames  until  it  was  quite  ready)  could  be  preserved 
if  they  merely  balanced  themselves  for  a  few  minutes  on  the  sill 
of  their  bedroom  window,  and  got  into  the  escape  without  fall- 
ing into  the  street.  The  Professor  stated  that  the  number  of 
boys  who  had  been  rescued  in  the  daytime  by  this  machine 
from  houses  which  were  not  on  fire,  was  almost  incredible. 
Not  a  conflagration  had  occurred  in  the  whole  of  London  for 
many  months  past  to  which  the  escape  had  not  been  carried 
on  the  very  next  day,  and  put  in  action  before  a  concourse  of 
persons. 

"The  President  inquired  whether  there  was  not  some  diffi- 
culty in  ascertaining  which  was  the  top  of  the  machine,  and 
which  the  bottom,  in  cases  of  pressing  emergency? 

"Professor  Nogo  explained  that  of  course  it  could  not  be  ex- 
pected to  act  quite  as  well  when  there  was  a  fire,  as  when  there 
was  not  a  fire ;  but  in  the  former  case  he  thought  it  would  be 
of  equal  service  whether  the  top  were  up  or  down." 

With  the  last  section,  our  correspondent  concludes  his  most 
able  and  faithful  report,  which  will  never  cease  to  reflect  credit 
upon  him  for  his  scientific  attainments,  and  upon  us  for  our  en- 
terprising spirit.  It  is  needless  to  take  a  review  of  thesubjects 
which  have  been  discussed  ;  of  the  mode  in  which  they  have 
been  examined  ;  of  the  great  truths  which  they  have  elicited. 
They  are  now  before  the  world,  and  we  leave  them  to  read,  to 
consider,  and  to  profit. 

The  place  of  meeting  for  next  year  has  undergone  discus- 
sion, and  has  at  length  been  decided;  regard  being  had  to,  and 
evidence  being  taken  upon,  the  goodness  of  its  wines,  the  sup- 
ply of  its  markets,  the  hospitality  of  its  inhabitants,  and  the  qual- 
ity of  its  hotels.  We  hope  at  this  next  meeting  our  correspon- 
dent may  again  be  present,  and  that  we  may  be  once  more  the 
means  of  placing  his  communications  before  the  world.  Until 
that  period  we  have  been  prevailed  upon  to  allow  this  number 
of  our  Miscellany  to  be  retailed  to  the  public,  or  wholesaled  tc 
the  trade,  without  any  advance  upon  our  usual  price. 

We  have  only  to  add,  that  the  committees  are  now  broken 


REPORT  OF  FIRST  MEETING. 


395 


up,  and  that  Mudfog  is  once  again  restored  to  its  accustomed 
tranquillity  ;  that  Professors  and  Members  have  had  bails,  and 
soirees,  and  suppers,  and  great  mutual  complimentations,  and 
have  at  length  dispersed  to  their  several  homes, — whither  all 
good  wishes  and  joys  attend  them,  until  next  year  ! 


FULL  REPORT 

OF  THE   SECOND  MEETING    OF    THE    MUDFOG   ASSOCIA- 
TION FOR  THE  ADVANCEMENT  OF  EVERYTHING. 


N  October  last,  we  did  ourselves  the  immortal  credit 
'  of  recording,  at  an  enormous  expense,  and  by  dint  of 
exertions  unparalleled  in  the  history  of  periodical  pub- 
lications, the  proceedings  of  the  Mudfog  Association 
for  the  advancement  of  everything,  which,  in  that  month,  held 
its  first  great  half-yearly  meeting,  to  the  wonder  and  delight  of 
the  whole  empire.  We  announced  at  the  conclusion  of  that 
extraordinary  and  most  remarkable  R?port,  that  when  the  Sec- 
ond Meeting  of  the  Society  should  take  place  we  should  be 
found  again  at  our  post  renewing  our  gigantic  and  spirited  en- 
deavors, and  once  more  making  the  world  ring  with  the  accu- 
racy, authenticity,  immeasurable  superiority,  and  intense  re- 
markability  of  our  account  of  its  proceedings.  Jn  redemption 
of  this  pledge,  we  caused  to  be  despatched  per  steam  to  Old- 
castle,  at  which  place  this  second  meeting  of  the  society  was 
held  on  the  20th  instant,  the  same  superhumanly  endowed  gen- 
tleman who  furnished  the  former  report,  and  who — gifted  by 
nature  with  transcendent  abilities,  and  furnished  by  us  with  a 
body  of  assistants  scarcely  inferior  to  himself — has  forwarded  a 
series  of  letters,  which  for  faithfulness  of  description,  power  of 
language,  fervor  of  thought,  happiness  of  expression,  and  im- 
portance of  subject-matter,  have  no  equal  in  the  epistolary  lit- 
erature of  any  age  or  country.  We  give  this  gentleman's  cor- 
respondence entire,  in  the  order  in  which  it  reached  our  office. 

"Saloon    OF  Steamer,  Thursday  night,  half-past  eight. 

"  When  I  left  New  Burlington  Street  this  evening  in  the 
hackney  cabriolet,  number  four  thousand  two  hundred  and 
eighty-five,  I  experienced  sensations  as  novel  as  they  were  op- 
pressive. A  sense  of  importance  of  the  task  I  had  undertaken, 
a  consciousness  that  I  was  leaving  London,  and  stranger  still, 
going  somevvh  I       a  feel    ig  of  loneliness  and  a  sensation  of 

jolting,  qiiii     b       I    'i   i1  11  ■     houghts  and  for  a   time   rendered 
me  even  insensible  to  tne  presence   of  my  carpet-bag  and  hat- 


REPORT  OF  SECOND-  MEETING. 


397 


box.  I  shall  ever  feel  grateful  to  the  driver  of  a  Blackwell  om- 
nibus, who,  by  thrusting  the  pole  of  his  vehicle  through  l  he 
small  door  of  the  cabriolet,  awakened  me  from  a  tumult  of  im- 
aginations that  are  wholly  indiscribable.  But  of  such  materials 
is  our  imperfect  nature  composed  ! 

"  1  am  happy  to  say  that  I  am  the  first  passenger  on  board, 
and  shall  thus  be  enabled  to  give  you  an  account  of  all  that 
happens  in  the  order  of  its  occurrence.  The  chimney  is  smok- 
ing a  good  deal  and  so  are  the  crew  ;  and  the  captain,  I  am  in- 
formed, is  very  drunk  in  a  little  house  upon  the  deck,  some- 
thing like  a  black  turnpike.  I  should  infer  from  all  I  hear  that 
he  has  got  the  steam  up. 

"  You  will  readily  guess  with  what  feelings  I  have  just  made 
the  discovery  that  my  berth  is  in  the  same  closet  with  those 
engaged  by  Professor  Woodensconce,  Mr.  Slug,  and  Professor 
Grime.  Professor  Woodensconce  has  taken  the  shelf  above 
me,  and  Mr.  Slug  and  Professor  Grime  the  two  shelves  oppo- 
site. Their  luggage  has  already  arrived.  On  Mr.  Slug's  bed  is 
a  long  tin  tube  of  about  three  inches  in  diameter,  carefu  ly 
closed  at  both  ends.  What  can  this  contain  ?  Some  powerful 
instrument  of  a  new  construction  doubtless." 

"  Ten  minutes  past  nine. 

"  Nobody  has  yet  arrived,  nor  has  anything  fresh  come  in  my 
way,  except  several  joints  of  beef  and  mutton,  from  which  I 
conclude  that  a  good  plain  dinner  has  been  provided  for  to- 
morrow. There  is  a  singular  smell  below,  which  gave  me  some 
uneasiness  at  first  ;  but  as  the  steward  says  it  is  always  there, 
and  never  goes  away,  I  am  quite  comfortable  again.  I  learn 
from  this  man  that  the  different  sections  will  be  distributed  at  the 
Black  Boy  and  Stomach-Ache,  and  the  Boot-Jack  and  Counte- 
nance. If  this  intelligence  be  true,  and  I  have  no  reason  to 
doubt  it,  your  readers  will  draw  such  conclusions  as  their  dif- 
ferent opinions  may  suggest. 

"  I  write  down  these  remarks  as  they  occur  to  me,  or  as  the 
facts  come  to  my  knowledge,  in  order  that  my  first  impressions 
may  lose  nothing  of  their  original  vividness.  1  shall  despatch 
them  in  small  packets  as  opportunities  arise." 

"Half  past  nine. 

"Some  dark  object  has  just  appeared  upon  the  wharf.  I 
think  it  is  a  travelling  carriage." 

"A  quarter  to  ten. 

"  No,  it  isn't." 


393 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 


"  Half  past  ten. 

"  The  passengers  are  pouring  in  every  instant.  Four  omni- 
buses full  have  just  arrived  upon  the  wharf,  and  all  is  bustle 
and  activity.  The  noise  and  confusion  are  very  great.  Cloths 
are  laid  in  the  cabins,  and  the  steward  is  placing  blue  plates 
full  of  knobs  of  cheese  at  equal  distances  down  the  centre  of 
the  tables.  He  drops  a  great  many  knobs  ;  but,  being  used  to 
it,  picks  them  up  again  with  great  dexterity,  and  after  wiping 
them  on  his  sleeve,  throws  them  back  into  the  plates.  He  is  a 
young  man  of  exceedingly  prepossessing  appearance, — either 
dirty  or  a  mulatto,  but  I  think  the  former. 

"  An  interesting  old  gentleman  who  came  to  the  wharf  in  an 
omnibus  has  just  quarrelled  violently  with  the  porters,  and  is 
staggering  towards  the  vessel  with  a  large  trunk  in  his  arms.  I 
trust  and  hope  that  he  may  reach  it  in  safety ;  but  the  board  he 
has  to  cross  is  narrow  and  slippery.  Was  that  a  splash  ?  Gra- 
cious powers ! 

"  I  have  just  returned  from  the  deck.  The  trunk  is  stand- 
ing upon  the  extreme  brink  of  the  wharf,  but  the  old  gentleman 
is  nowhere  to  be  seen.  The  watchman  is  not  sure  whether  he 
went  down  or  not,  but  promises  to  drag  for  him  the  first  thing 
to-morrow  morning.  May  his  humane  efforts  prove  success- 
ful! 

"  Professor  Nogo  has  this  moment  arrived  with  his  nightcap 
on  under  his  hat.  He  has  ordered  a  glass  of  cold  brandy  and 
water,  with  a  hard  biscuit  and  a  basin,  and  has  gone  straight  to 
bed.     What  can  this  mean  ? 

"  The  three  other  scientific  gentlemen  to  whom  I  have  al- 
ready alluded  have  come  on  board,  and  have  all  tried  their 
beds,  with  the  exception  of  Professor  Woodensconce,  who 
sleeps  in  one  of  the  top  ones,  and  can't  get  into  it.  Mr.  Slug, 
who  sleeps  in  the  other  top  one,  is  unable  to  get  out  of  his,  and 
is  to  have  his  supper  handed  up  by  a  boy.  I  have  had  the  hon- 
our to  introduce  myself  to  these  gentlemen,  and  we  have  ami- 
cably arranged  the  order  in  which  we  shall  retire  to  rest ;  which 
it  is  necessary  to  agree  upon,  because,  although  the  cabin  is 
very  comfortable,  there  is  not  room  for  more  than  one  gentle 
man  to  be  out  of  bed  at  a  time,  and  even  he  must  take  his 
boots  off  in  the  passage. 

"  As  I  anticipated,  the  knobs  of  cheese  were  provided  for 
the  passengers'  supper,  and  are  now  in  course  of  consumption, 
Your  readers  will  be  surprised  to  hear  that  Professor  Wooden, 
sconce  has  abstained  from  cheese  for  eight  years,  although  he 
takes  butter  in  considerable  quantities.     Professor  Grime,  hav- 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  ME  E  TIN  J. 


399 


ing  lost  several  teeth,  is  unable,  I  observe,  to  eat  his  crusts 
without  previously  soaking  them  in  his  bottled  porter.  How 
interesting  are  these  peculiarities  !  " 

"  Half  past  eleven. 

"Professors  Woodensconce  and  Grime,  with  a  degree  of 
good  humour  that  delights  us  all,  have  just  arranged  to  toss  for 
a  bottle  of  mulled  port.  There  has  been  some  discussion 
whether  the  payment  should  be  decided  by  the  first  toss  or  the 
best  out  of  three.  Eventually  the  latter  course  has  been  deter- 
mined on.  Deeply  do  1  wish  that  both  gentlemen  could  win  ; 
but  that  being  impossible,  I  own  that  my  personal  aspirations — 
I  speak  as  an  individual,  and  do  not  compromise  either  you  or 
your  readers  by  this  expression  of  feeling — are  with  Professor 
Woodensconce.  I  have  backed  that  gentleman  to  the  amount 
of  eighteen  pence." 

"  Twenty  minutes  to  twelve. 

"Professor  Grime  has  inadvertently  tossed  his  half-crown  out 
of  one  of  the  cabin-windows,  and  it  has  been  arranged  the 
steward  shall  toss  for  him.  Bets  are  offered  on  any  side  to  any 
amount,  but  there  are  no  takers. 

"  Professor  Woodensconce  has  just  called  *  woman'  ;  but  the 
coin  having  lodged  in  a  beam  is  a  long  time  coming  down 
again.  The  interest  and  suspense  of  this  one  moment  are  be- 
yond anything  that  can  be  imagined." 

"  Twelve  o'clock. 

"  The  mulled  port  is  smoking  on  the  table  before  me,  and 
Professor  Grime  has  won.  Tossing  is  a  game  of  chance  ;  but 
on  every  ground,  whether  of  public  or  private  character,  intel- 
lectual endowments,  or  scientific  attainments,  I  cannot  help  ex- 
pressing my  opinion  that  Professor  Woodensconce  ought  to 
have  come  off  victorious.  There  is  an  exultation  about  Pro- 
fessor Grime  incompatible  I  fear  with  greatness." 

"A  quarter  past  twelve. 

"  Professor  Grime  continues  to  exult,  and  to  boast  of  his  vic- 
tory in  no  very  measured  terms,  observing  that  he  always  does 
win,  and  that  he  knew  it  would  be  a  'head'  beforehand,  with 
many  other  remarks  of  a  similar  nature.  Surely  this  gentleman 
is  not  so  lost  to  every  feeling  of  decency  and  propriety  as  not 
to  feel  and  know  the  superiority  of  Professor  Woodensconce. 


400  THE   MUDFOG   ASSOCIATION". 

Is  Professor  Grime  insane  ?  or  does  he  wish  to  be  reminded  in 
plain  language  of  his  true  position  in  society,  and  the  precise 
level  of  his  acquirements  and  abilities?  Professor  Grime  will 
do  well  to  look  to  this." 

"One  o'clock. 

"  I  am  writing  in  bed.  The  small  cabin  is  illuminated  by 
the  feeble  light  of  a  flickering  lamp  suspended  from  the  ceiling; 
Professor  Grime  is  lying  on  the  opposite  shelf  on  the  broad  of 
his  back,  with  his  mouth  wide  open.  The  scene  is  indescrib- 
ably solemn.  The  ripple  of  the  tide,  the  noise  of  the  sailors' 
feet  overhead,  the  gruff  voices  on  the  river,  the  dogs  on  the 
shore,  the  snoring  of  the  passengers,  and  a  constant  creaking 
of  every  plank  in  the  vessel,  are  the  only  sounds  that  meet  the 
ear.     With  these  exceptions,  all  is  profound  silence. 

"  My  curiosity  has  been  within  the  last  moment  very  much 
excited.  Mr.  Slug,  who  lies  above  Professor  Grime,  has  cau- 
tiously withdrawn  the  curtains  of  his  berth,  and  after  looking 
anxiously  out,  as  if  to  satisfy  himself  that  his  companions  are 
asleep,  has  taken  up  the  tin  tube  of  which  I  have  before  spoken, 
and  is  regarding  it  with  great  interest.  What  rare  mechanical 
combinations  can  be  obtained  in  that  mysterious  case  ?  It  is 
evidently  a  profound  secret  to  all." 

"  A  quarter  past  one. 

"The  behavior  of  Mr.  Slug  grows  more  and  more  mysteri- 
ous. He  has  unscrewed  the  top  of  the  tube,  and  now  renews 
his  observation  upon  his  companions  ;  evidently  to  make  sure 
that  he  is  wholly  unobserved.  He  is  clearly  on  the  eve  of 
some  great  experiment.  Pray  Heaven  that  it  be  not  a  danger- 
ous one  ;  but  the  interests  of  science  must  be  promoted,  and  I 
am  prepared  for  the  worst." 

"  Five  minutes  later. 

"  He  has  produced  a  large  pair  of  scissors,  and  drawn  a  roll 
of  some  substance,  not  unlike  parchment  in  appearance,  from 
the  tin  case.  The  experiment  is  about  to  begin.  I  must  strain 
my  eyes  to  the  utmost,  in  the  attempt  to  follow  its  minutest 
operation." 

"  Twenty  minutes  before  two. 

"  I  have  at  length  been  enabled  to  ascertain  that  the  tin 
tube  contains  a  few  yards  of  some  celebrated  plaster  recom- 
mended,— as  I  discover  on  regarding  the  label  attentively 
through  my  eye-glass, — as  a  preservative  against  sea-sickness. 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  MEETING. 


401 


Mr.  Slug  has  cut  it  up  into  small  portions,  and  is  now  sticking 
it  over  himself  in  every  direction." 

"  Three  o'clock. 

"  Precisely  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago  we  weighed  anchor,  and 
the  machinery  was  suddenly  put  in  motion  with  a  noise  so  ap- 
palling, that  Professor  Woodenscor.ee,  who  had  ascended  to 
his  berth  by  means  of  a  platform  of  carpet-bags  arranged  by 
himself  on  geometrical  principles,  darted  from  his  shelf  head 
foremost,  and  gaining  his  feet  with  all  the  rapidity  of  extreme 
terror,  ran  wildly  into  the  ladies'  cabin,  under  the  impression 
that  we  were  sinking,  and  uttering  loud  cries  for  aid.  I  am  as- 
sured that  the  scene  which  ensued  baffles  all  description.  There 
were  one  hundred  and  forty-seven  ladies  in  their  respective 
berths  at  the  time. 

"Mr.  Slug  has  remarked,  as  an  additional  instance  of  the  ex- 
treme ingenuity  of  the  steam-engine  as  applied  to  purposes  of 
navigation,  that  in  whatever  part  of  the  vessel  a  passenger's 
berth  may  be  situated,  the  machinery  always  appears  to  be  ex- 
actly under  his  pillow.  He  intends  stating  this  very  beautiful, 
though  simple  discovery  to  the  association." 

"  Half  past  three. 

"We  are  still  in  smooth  water  ;  that  is  to  say,  in  as  smooth 
water  as  a  steam-vessel  ever  can  be,  for  as  Professor  Wooden- 
sconce,  who  has  just  woke  up,  learnedly  remarks,  another  great 
point  of  ingenuity  about  a  steamer  is,  that  it  always  carries  a  little 
storm  with  it.  You  can  scarcely  conceive  how  exciting  the 
jerking  pulsation  of  the  ship  becomes.  It  is  a  matter  of  posi- 
tive difficulty  to  get  to  sleep." 

"Friday  afternoon,  six  o'clock. 

"I  regret  to  inform  you  that  Mr.  Slug's  plaster  has  proved  of 
no  avail.  He  is  in  great  agony,  but  has  applied  several  large 
additional  pieces  notwithstanding.  How  affecting  is  this  ex- 
treme devotion  to  science  and  pursuit  of  knowledge  under  the 
most  trying  circumstances  ! 

"  We  were  extremely  happy  this  morning,  and  the  breakfast 
was  one  of  the  most  animated  description.  Nothing  unpleasant 
occurred  until  noon,  with  the  exception  of  Dr.  Foxcy's  brown 
silk  umbrella  and  white  hat  becoming  entangled  in  the  ma- 
chinery while  he  was  explaining  to  a  knot  of  ladies  tiie  con- 
struction of  the  steam-engine.     I  fear  the  gravy-soup  for   lunch 


402  THE   MUDFQG   ASSOCIATION. 

was  injudicious.     We  lost  a  great  many  passengers  almost  im- 
mediately afterwards." 

"  Half  past  six. 
"  I    am  again  in    bed.     Anything  so   heart-rending   as  Mi. 
Slug's  sufferings  it  has  never  yet  been  my  lot  to  witness." 

"  Seven  o'clock. 

"A  messenger  has  just  come  down  for  a  clean  pocket-hand- 
kerchief from  Professor  Woodensconce's  bag,  that  unfortunate 
gentleman  being  quite  unable  to  leave  the  deck,  and  imploring 
constantly  to  be  thrown  overboard.  From  this  man  1  under- 
stand that  Professor  Nogo,  though  in  a  state  of  utter  exhaus- 
tion, clings  feebly  to  the  hard  biscuit  and  cold  brandy-and-water, 
under  the  impression  that  they  will  yet  restore  him.  Such  is 
the  triumph  of  mind  over  matter.     - 

"Professor  Grime  is  in  bed,  to  all  appearance  quite  well ; 
but  he  will  eat,  and  it  is  disagreeable  to  see  him.  bias  this 
gentleman  no  sympathy  with  the  sufferings  of  his  fellow-creat- 
ures ?  If  he  has,  on  what  principle  can  he  call  for  mutton- 
chops, — and  smile  ?  " 

"  Black  Boy  and  Stomach-Ache,  ) 
Oldcastle,  Saturday  noon.       \ 

"  You  will  be  happy  to  learn  that  I  have  at  length  arrived 
here  in  safety.  The  town  is  excessively  crowded,  and  all  the 
private  lodgings  and  hotels  are  rilled  with  savans  of  both  sexes. 
The  tremendous  assemblages  of  intellect  that  one  encounters 
in  every  street  is  in  the  last  degree  overwhelming. 

"Notwithstanding  the  throng  of  people  here,  I  have  been 
fortunate  enough  to  meet  with  very  comfortable  accommoda- 
tions on  very  reasonable  terms,  having  secured  a  sofa  in  the  first- 
floor  passage  at  one  guinea  per  night,  which  includes  permission 
to  take  my  meals  in  the  bar,  on  condition  that  I  walk  about  the 
streets  at  all  other  times  to  make  room  for  other  gentlemen 
similarly  situated.  I  have  been  over  the  outhouses  intended  to 
be  devoted  to  the  reception  of  the  various  sections,  both  here 
and  at  the  Boot-Jack  and  Countenance,  and  am  much  delighted 
with  the  arrangements.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  fresh  appear- 
ance of  the  sawdust  with  which  the  floors  an*  sprinkled.  The 
forms  are  of  unplaned  deal,  and  the  general  effect,  as  you  can 
well  imagine,  is  extremely  beautiful." 

"  Half  past  nine. 

"  The  number  and  rapidity  of  the  arrivals  are  quite  bewilder- 
ing.    Within  the  last  ten  minutes  a  stage-coach  has  driven  up 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  MEETING. 


403 


to  the  door,  filled  inside  and  out  with  distinguished  characters, 
comprising  Mr.  Muddlebrains,  Mr.  Drawley,  Professor  Muff, 
Mr.  X.  Misty,  Mr.  X.  X.  Misty,  Mr.  Purblind,  Professor  Rum- 
num,  The  Honorable  and  Reverend  Mr.  Long  Ears,  Professor 
John  Ketch,  Sir  William  Joltered,  Doctor  Puffer,  Mr.  Smith  of 
London,  Mr.  Brown  of  Edenburg,  Sir  Hookham  Snivv,  and 
Professor  Pumpkinskull.  The  last  ten-named  gentlemen  were 
wet  through,  and  looked  extremely  intelligent." 

"  Sunday,  two  o'clock,  P.  M. 

"  The  Honorable  and  Reverend  Mr.  Long  Ears,  accompa- 
nied by  Sir  William  Joltered,  walked  and  drove  this  morning. 
They  accomplished  the  former  feat  in  boots,  and  the  latter  in  a 
hired  fly.     This  has  naturally  given  rise  to  much  discussion. 

"  I  have  just  learned  that  an  interview  has  taken  place  at  the 
Boot- Jack  and  Countenance,  between  Sowster,  the  active  and 
intelligent  beadle  of  this  place,  and  Professor  Pumpkinskull, 
who,  as  your  readers  are  doubtless  aware,  is  an  influential  mem- 
ber of  the  council.  I  forbear  to  communicate  any  of  the  ru- 
mors to  which  this  very  extraordinary  proceeding  has  given 
rise  until  I  have  seen  Sowster,  and  endeavored  to  ascertain  the 
truth  from  him." 

"  Half  past  six. 

"  I  engaged  a  donkey-chaise  shortly  after  writing  the  above, 
and  proceeded  at  a  brisk  trot  in  the  direction  of  Sovvster's  resi- 
dence, passing  through  a  beautiful  expanse  of  country  with  red 
brick  buildings  on  either  side,  and  stopping  in  the  market-place 
to  observe  the  spot  where  Mr.  Kwakley's  hat  was  blown  off  yes- 
terday. It  is  an  uneven  piece  of  paving,  but  has  certainly  no 
appearance  which  would  lead  one  to  suppose  that  any  such 
event  had  recently  occurred  there.  From  this  point  I  pro- 
ceeded— passing  the  gas-works  and  tallow-melter's — to  a  lane 
which  had  been  pointed  out  to  me  as  the  beadle's  place  of  resi- 
dence ;  and  before  I  had  driven  a  dozen  yards  farther,  I  had 
the  good  fortune  to  meet  Sowster  himself  advancing  towards 
me. 

"Sowster  is  a  fat  man,  with  a  more  enlarged  development  of 
that  peculiar  conformation  of  countenance  which  is  vulgarly 
termed  a  double  chin  that  I  remember  to  have  ever  seen  be- 
fore. He  has  also  a  very  red  nose,  which  he  attributes  to  a 
habit  of  ear1)'  rising, — so  red  indeed,  that,  but  for  this  explana- 
tion, I  should  have  supposed  it  to  proceed  from  occasional  ine- 
briety.    He  informed  me  that  he  did  not  feel  himself  at   liberty 


404  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

to  relate  what  had  passed  between  himself  and  Professor  Pump- 
kinskull,  but  had  no  objection  to  state  that  it  was  connected 
with  a  matter  of  police  regulation,  and  added  with  peculiar  sig- 
nificance, 'Never  wos  sitch  times  ! ' 

"You  will  easily  believe  that  this  intelligence  gave  use  con- 
siderable surprise,  not  wholly  unmixed  with  anxiety,  and  that  1 
lost  no  time  in  waiting  on  Professor  Pumpkinskull,  and  stating 
the  object  of  my  visit.  After  a  few  moments'  reflection,  the 
Professor,  who,  I  am  bound  to  say,  behaved  with  the  utmost 
politeness,  openly  avowed, — 1  marked  the  passage  in  italics, — 
that  he  had  requested  Sowster  to  attend  on  the  Monday  morning 
at  the  Boot  Jack  and  Countenance  to  keep  off  the  boys;  and  thai 
he  had  further  desired  that  the  under-beadle  might  be  stationed, 
with  the  same  object,  at  the  Black  Boy  and  Stomach- Ache  ! 

"  Now  1  leave  this  unconstitutional  proceeding  to  your  com- 
ments and  the  consideration  of  your  readers.  I  have  yet  to 
learn  that  a  beadle,  without  the  precincts  of  a  church,  church- 
yard, or  workhouse,  and  acting  otherwise  than  under  the  ex- 
press orders  of  churchwardens  and  overseers  in  council  assem- 
bled, to  enforce  the  law  against  people  who  come  upon  the 
parish,  and  other  offenders,  has  any  lawful  authority  whatever 
over  the  rising  youth  of  this  country.  I  have  yet  to  learn  that 
a  beadle  can  be  called  out  by  any  civilian  to  exercise  a  domina- 
tion and  despotism  over  the  boys  of  Britain.  I  have  yet  to 
learn  that  a  beadle  will  be  permitted  by  the  commissioners  of 
poor-law  regulation  to  wear  out  the  soles  and  heels  of  his  boots 
in  illegal  interference  with  the  liberties  of  people  not  proved 
poor  or  otherwise  criminal.  1  have  yet  to  learn  that  a  beadle 
has  power  to  stop  up  the  Queen's  highway  at  his  will  and  pleas- 
ure, or  that  the  whole  width  of  the  street  is  not  free  and  open 
to  any  man,  boy,  or  woman  in  existence,  up  to  the  very  walls 
of  the  houses, — ay,  be  they  Black  Boys  and  Stomach-Aches,  or 
Boot-jacks  and  Countenances,  I  care  not." 

"  Nine  o'clock. 

"I  have  procured  a  local  artist  to  make  a  faithful  sketch  of 
the  tyrant  Sowster,  which,  as  he  has  acquired  this  infamous 
celebrity,  you  will  no  doubt  wish  to  have  engraved  for  the  pur- 
pose of  presenting  a  copy  with  every  copy  of  your  next  num- 
ber. The  under-beadle  has  consented  to  write  his  life,  but  it  is 
to  be  strictly  anonymous. 

"The  likeness  is  of  course  from  the- life,  and  complete  in 
every  respect.  Even  if  I  had  been  totally  ignorant  of  the  man's 
real  character,  and  it  had  been  placed  before  me  without  remark, 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  MEETING. 


405 


I  should  have  shuddered  involuntarily.  There  is  an  intense  ma- 
lignity of  expression  in  the  features,  and  a  baleful  ferocity  of 
purpose  in  the  ruffian's  eye,  which  appalls  and  sickens.  His 
whole  air  is  rampant  with  cruelty,  nor  is  the  stomach  less  char- 
acteristic of  his  demoniac  propensities." 

"  Monday. 

"The  great  day  has  at  length  arrived.  I  have  neither  eyes, 
nor  ears,  nor  pens,  nor  ink,  nor  paper,  for  anything  but  t he 
wonderful  proceedings  that  have  astounded  my  senses.  Let 
me  collect  my  energies  and  proceed  to  the  account. 

"  SECTION    A. — ZOOLOGY   AND    BOTANY. 
"  FRONT   PARLOUR,    BLACK    BOY    AND    STOMACH-ACHE. 
"  PRESIDENT — SIR     WILLIAM     JOLTERED.        VICE-PRESIDENTS  —  MR. 
"  MUDDLLBRAINS   AND    MR.    DRAWLEY. 

"Mr.  X.  X.  Misty  communicated  some  remarks  on  the  dis- 
appearance of  dancing-bears  from  the  streets  of  London,  with 
observations  on  the  exhibition  of  monkeys  as  connected  with 
barrel-organs.  The  writer  had  observed  with  feelings  of  the 
utmost  pain  and  regret,  that  some  years  ago  a  sudden  and  un- 
accountable change  in  the  public  taste  took  place  with  reference 
to  itinerant  bears,  who,  being  discountenanced  by  the  populace, 
gradually  fell  off  one  by  one  from  the  streets  of  the  metropolis, 
until  not  one  remained  to  create  a  taste  for  natural  history  in 
the  breasts  of  the  poor  and  uninstructed.  One  bear,  indeed, — 
a  brown  and  ragged  animal, — had  lingered  about  the  haunts 
of  his  former  triumphs,  with  a  worn  and  dejected  visage  and 
feeble  limbs,  and  had  essayed  to  wield  his  quarter-staff  for  the 
amusement  of  the  multitude;  but  hunger  and  an  utter  want  of 
any  due  recompence  for  his  abilities  had  at  length  driven  him 
from  the  field,  and  it  was  only  too  probable  that  he  had  fallen 
a  sacrifice  to  the  rising  taste  for  grease.  He  regretted  to  add 
that  a  simular  and  no  less  lamentable  change  had  taken  place 
with  reference  to  monkeys.  Those  delightful  am  nulls  had 
formerly  been  almost  as  plentiful  as  the  organs,  on  the  tops  of 
which  they  were  accustomed  to  sit  ;  the  proportion  in  the  year 
1829  it  appeared  by  the  parliamentary  return,  being  as  one 
monkey  to  three  organs.  Owing,  however,  to  an  altered  taste  in 
musical  instruments  and  the  substitution,  in  a  great  measure,  of 
narrow  boxes  of  music  for  organs,  which  left  the  monkeys  noth- 
ing to  sit  upon,  this  source  of  public  amusement  was  wholly 
dried  up.     Considering  it  a  matter  of  the  deepest  importance 


406  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 

in  connection  with  national  education,  that  the  people  should 
not  lose  such  opportunities  of  making  themselves  acquainted 
with  the  manners  and  customs  of  two  most  interesting  species 
of  animals,  the  author  submitted  that  some  measures  should  be 
immediately  taken  for  the  restoration  of  those  pleasing  and 
truly  intellectual  amusements. 

'•The  President  inquired  by  what  means  the  honourable 
member  proposed  to  attain  this  most  desirable  end  ? 

"  The  Author  submitted  that  it  could  be  most  fully  and  satis- 
factorily accomplished  if  Her  Majesty's  government  would  cause 
to  be  brought  over  to  England,  and  maintained  at  the  public 
expense,  and  for  the  public  amusement,  such  a  number  of 
bears  as  would  enable  every  quarter  of  the  town  to  be  visited, — 
say,  at  least,  by  three  bears  a  week.  No  difficulty  whatever  need 
be  experienced  in  providing  a  fitting  place  for  the  reception  of 
those  animals,  as  a  commodious  bear-garden  could  be  erected 
in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  both  houses  of  Parliament  ; 
obviously  the  most  proper  and  eligible  spot  for  such  an  es- 
tablishment. 

"Professor  Mull  doubted  very  much  whether  any  correct 
ideas  of  natural  history  were  propagated  by  the  means  to  which 
the  honourable  member  had  so  ably  adverted.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  believed  that  they  had  been  the  means  of  diffusing 
very  incorrect  and  imperfect  notions  on  the  subject.  He  spoke 
from  personal  observation  and  personal  experience,  when  he 
said  that  many  children  of  great  abilities  had  been  induced  to 
believe,  from  what  they  had  observed  in  the  streets,  at  and  be- 
fore the  period  to  which  the  honourable  gentleman  had  referred, 
that  all  monkeys  were  born  in  red  coats  and  spangles,  and  their 
hats  and  feathers  also  came  by  nature.  He  wished  to  know 
distinctly  whether  the  honourable  gentleman  attributed  the 
want  of  encouragement  the  bears  had  met  with  to  the  decline 
of  public  taste  in  that  respect,  or  to  a  want  of  ability  on  the  part 
of  the  bears  themselves  ? 

"Mr.  X.  X.  Misty  replied,  that  he  could  not  bring  himself 
to  believe  but  there  must  be  a  great  deal  of  floating  talent 
among  the  bears  and  monkeys  generally,  which,  in  the  absence 
of  any  proper  encouragement,  was  dispersed  in  other  direc- 
tions. 

•'  Professor  Pumpkinskull  wished  to  take  that  opportunity  01 
calling  the  attention'  of  the  section  to  a  most  important  and 
serious  point.  The  author  of  the  treatise  just  read  had  alluded 
to  the  prevalent  taste  for  bears'  grease  as  a  means  cf  promoting 
the  growth  of  hair,  which  undoubtedly  was  diffused  to  a  very 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  MEETING.  407 

great  and,  as  it  appeared  to  him,  very  alarming  extent.  No 
gentleman  attending  that  section  could  foil  to  be  aware  of  the 
fact  that  the  youth  of  the  present  age  evinced,  by  their  beha- 
vior in  the  streets,  and  all  places  of  public  resort,  a  consider- 
able lack  of  that  gallantry  and  gentlemanly  feeling  which,  in 
more  ignorant  times,  had  been  thought  becoming.  He  wished 
to  know  whether  it  were  possible  that  a  constant  outward  ap- 
plication of  bears  grease  by  the  young  gentlemen  about  town, 
had  imperceptibly  infused  into  those  unhappy  persons  some- 
thing of  the  nature  and  quality  of  the  bear?  He  shuddered  as 
he  threw  out  the  remark  ;  but  if  this  theory,  on  inquiry,  should 
prove  to  be  well  founded,  it  would  at  once  explain  a  great  deal 
of  unpleasant  eccentricity  of  behaviour,  which,  without  some 
such  discovery,  was  wholly  unaccountable. 

"The  President  highly  complimented  the  learned  gentleman 
on  his  most  valuable  suggestion,  which  produced  the  greatest 
effect  upon  the  assembly  ;  and  remarked  that  only  a  week 
previous  he  had  seen  some  young  gentlemen  at  a  theatre  eying 
a  box  of  ladies  with  a  fierce  intensity  which  nothing  but  the  in- 
fluence of  some  brutish  appetite  could  possibly  explain.  It 
was  dreadful  to  reflect  that  our  youth  were  so  rapidly  verging 
into  a  generation  of  bears. 

"  After  a  scene  of  scientific  enthusiasm  it  was  resolved  that 
this  important  question  should  be  immediately  submitted  to 
the  consideration  of  the  council. 

"The  President  wished  to  know  whether  any  gentleman 
could  inform  the  section  what  has  become  of  the  dancing- 
dogs  ? 

"A  member  replied,  after  some  hesitation,  that  on  the  day 
after  three  glee-singers  had  been  committed  to  prison  as  crimi- 
nals by  a  late  most  zealous  police  magistrate  of  the  metropolis, 
the  dogs  had  abandoned  their  professional  duties,  and  dispersed 
themselves  in  different  quarters  of  the  town  to  gain  a  livelihood 
by  less  dangerous  means.  He  was  given  to  understand  that 
since  that  period  they  had  supported  themselves  by  laying  in 
wait  for  and  robbing  blind  men's  poodles. 

"  Mr.  Flummery  exhibited  a  twig,  claiming  to  be  a  veritable 
branch  of  that  noble  tree  known  to  naturalists  as  the  Shake- 
speare, which  has  taken  root  in  every  land  and  climate,  and 
gathered  under  the  shade  of  its  broad  green  boughs  the  great 
family  of  mankind.  The  learned  gentleman  remarked,  that  the 
twig  had  been  undoubtedly  called  by  other  names  in  its  time  ; 
but  that  it  had  been  pointed  out  to  him  by  an  old  lady  in  War- 
wickshire, where  the  great  tree  had  grown,  as  a  shoot  of  the 


4o8  THE   MUDFOG   ASSOCIATION. 

genuine  Shakespeare,  by  which  name  he  begged  to  intro3uce 
it  to  his  countrymen. 

"The  President  wished  to  know  what  botanical  definition 
the  honourable  gentleman  could  afford  of  the  curiosity  ? 

"  Mr.  Flummery  expressed  his  opinion  that  it  was  a  decided 
PLANT." 


"SECTION    B.  — DISPLAY   OF   MODELS     AND    MECHANICAL    SCIENCE. 

"  LARGE    ROOM,    BOOT-JACK    AND    COUNTENANCE. 

PRESIDENT — MR.   MALLET.       VICE    PRESIDENTS — MESSRS.   LEAVER    AND 

SCROO. 


"  Mr.  Cricks  exhibited  a  most  beautiful  and  delicate  machine, 
of  a  little  larger  size  than  an  ordinary  snuff-box,  manufactured 
entirely  by  himself,  and  composed  exclusively  of  steel  ;  by  the 
aid  of  which  more  pockets  were  picked  in  one  hour  than  by 
the  present  slow  and  tedious  process  in  four-and-twenty.  The 
inventor  remarked  that  it  had  been  put  into  active  operation  in 
Fleet.  Street,  the  Strand,  and  other  thoroughfares,  and  had  never 
been  once  known  to  fail. 

"  After  some  slight  delay,  occasioned  by  the  various  members 
of  the  section  buttoning  their  pockets, 

'•  The  President  narrowly  inspected  the  invention,  and  de- 
clared that  he  had  never  seen  a  machine  of  more  beautiful  or 
exquisite  construction.  Would  the  inventor  be  good  enough 
to  inform  the  section  whether  he  had  taken  any  and  what 
means  for  bringing  it  into  general  operation  ? 

"  Mr.  Crinkles  stated,  that,  after  encountering  some  prelim- 
inary difficulties,  he  had  succeeded  in  putting  himself  in  com- 
munication with  Mr.  P'ogle  Hunter,  and  other  gentlemen  con- 
nected with  the  swell  mob,  who  had  awarded  the  invention  the 
very  highest  and  most  unqualified  approbation.  He  regretted 
to  say,  however,  that  those  distinguished  practitioners,  in  com- 
mon with  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Gimlet-eyed  Tommy,  and 
other  members  of  a  secondary  grade  of  the  profession  whom  he 
was  understood  to  represent,  entertained  an  insuperable  ob- 
jection to  its  being  brought  into  general  use,  on  the  ground  that 
it  would  have  the  inevitable  effect  of  almost  entirely  supersed- 
ing manual  labor,  and  throwing  a  great  number  of  highly  de- 
serving persons  out  of  employment. 

"The  President  hoped  that  no  such  fanciful  objections  would 
be  allowed  to  stand  in  the  way  of  such  a  great  public  improve- 
ment. 

"  Mr.  Crinkles  hoped  so  too ;  but  he  feared  that  if  the  gen- 


REPORT   OF  SECOND   MEETING.  409 

tlemen  of  the  swell  mob  persevered  in  their  objection,  nothing 
could  be  clone. 

"  Professor  Grime  suggested  that  surely,  in  that  case,  her 
Majesty's  government  might  be  prevailed  upon  to  take  it 
up. 

•'  Mr.  Crinkles  said,  that  if  the  objection  were  found  to  be 
insuperable,  he  should  apply  to  Parliament,  who  he  thought 
could  not  fail  to  recognize  the  utility  of  the  invention. 

"  The  President  observed  that  up  to  his  time  Parliament  had 
certainly  got  on  very  well  without  it ;  but  as  they  did  their  bus- 
iness on  a  very  large  scale,  he  had  no  doubt  they  would  gladly 
adopt  the  improvement.  His  only  fear  was  that  the  machine 
might  be  worn  out  by  constant  working. 

"  Mr.  Coppernose  called  the  attention  of  the  section  to  a 
proposition  of  great  magnitude  and  interest,  illustrated  by  a 
vast  number  of  models,  and  stated  with  much  clearness  and 
perspicuity  in  a  treatise  entitled  '  Practical  Suggestions  on  the 
necessity  of  providing  some  harmless  and  wholesome  relaxation 
for  the  young  noblemen  of  England.'  His  proposition  was 
that  a  space  of  ground  of  not  less  than  ten  miles  in  length  and 
four  in  breadth  should  be  purchased  by  a  new  company,  to  be 
incorporated  by  act  of  Parliament,  and  enclosed  by  a  brick  wall 
of  not  less  than  twelve  feet  in  height.  He  proposed  that  it 
should  be  laid  out  with  highway-roads,  turnpikes,  bridges,  min- 
iature villages,  and  every  object  that  could  conduce  to  the  com- 
fort and  glory  of  Four-in-hand  Clubs,  so  that  they  might  be 
fairly  presumed  to  require  no  drive  beyond  it.  This  delightful 
retreat  would  be  fitted  up  with  most  commodious  and  extensive 
stables  for  the  convenience  of  such  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  as 
had  a  taste  for  ostlering,  and  with  houses  of  entertainment  fur- 
nished in  the  most  expensive  and  handsome  style.  It  would 
be  further  provided  with  whole  streets  of  door-knockers  and 
bell-handles  of  extra  size,  so  constructed  that  they  could  be 
easily  wrenched  off  at  night,  and  regularly  screwed  on  again  by 
attendants  provided  for  the  purpose  every  day.  There  would 
also  be  gas-lamps  of  real  glass,  which  could  be  broken  at  a 
comparatively  small  expense  per  dozen,  and  a  broad  and  hand 
some  foot-pavement  for  gentlemen  to  drive  their  cabriolets  upon 
when  they  were  humourously  disposed, — for  the  full  enjoyment 
of  which  feat  live  pedestrians  would  be  procured  from  the  work- 
house at  a  very  small  charge  per  head.  The  place  being  en- 
closed and  carefully  screened  from  the  intrusion  of  the  public, 
there  would  be  no  objection  to  gentlemen  laying  aside  any 
article  of  their  costume  that  was  considered  to  interfere  with  a 
18 


4io 


THE   MUDFOG   ASSOCIATION: 


pleasant  frolic,  or  indeed  to  their  walking  about  without  any 
costume  at  all,  if  they  liked  that  better.  In  short,  every  facility 
of  enjoyment  would  be  afforded  that  the  most  gentlemanly  per- 
son could  possibly  desire.  But  as  even  these  advantages  would 
be  incomplete,  unless  there  were  some  means  provided  of  enab- 
ling the  nobility  and  gentry  to  display  their  prowess  when  they 
sallied  forth  after  dinner,  and  as  some  inconvenience  might  be 
experienced  in  the  event  of  their  being  reduced  to  the  necessity 
of  pummelling  each  other,  the  inventor  had  turned  his  attention 
to  the  construction  of  an  entirely  new  police  force,  composed 
exclusively  of  automaton  figures,  which,  with  the  assistance  of 
the  ingenious  Signor  Gagliardi,  of  Windmill  Street  in  the  May- 
market,  he  had  succeeded  in  making  with  such  nicety,  that  a 
policeman,  cab-driver,  or  old  woman,  made  upon  the  principle 
of  the  models  exhibited,  would  walk  about  until  knocked  clown 
like  any  real  man  ;  nay  more,  if  set  upon  and  beaten  by  six  or 
eight  noblemen  or  gentlemen,  after  it  was  down,  the  figure 
would  utter  divers  groans,  mingled  with  entreaties  for  mercy; 
thus  rendering  the  illusion  complete,  and  the  enjoyment  per- 
fect. But  the  invention  did  not  stop  even  here,  for  station- 
houses  would  be  built,  containing  good  beds  for  noblemen  and 
gentlemen  during  the  night,  and  in  the  morning  they  would  re- 
pair to  a  commodious  police-office  where  a  pantomimic  investi- 
gation wouid  take  place  before  automaton  magistrates, — quite 
equal  to  life, — -who  would  fine  them  so  many  counters,  with 
which  they  would  be  previously  provided  for  the  purpose.  This 
office  would  be  furnished  with  an  inclined  plane  for  the  conven- 
ience of  any  nobleman  or  gentleman  who  might  wish  to  bring 
in  his  horse  as  a  witness,  and  the  prisoners  would  be  at  perfect 
liberty,  as  they  were  now,  to  interrupt  the  complainants  as  much 
as  they  pleased,  and  to  make  any  remarks  that  they  thought 
proper.  The  charge  for  those  amusements  would  amount  to 
very  little  more  than  they  already  cost,  and  the  inventor  sub- 
mitted that  the  public  would  be  much  benefited  and  comforted 
by  the  proposed  arrangement. 

"  Professor  Nogo  wished  to  be  informed  what  amount  of 
automaton  police  force  it  was  proposed  to  raise  in  the  first  in- 
stance. 

"  Mr.  Coppernose  replied  that  it  was  proposed  to  begin  with 
seven  divisions  of  police  of  a  score  each,  lettered  from  A  to  G 
inclusive.  It  was  proposed  that  not  more  than  half  the  num- 
ber should  be  placed  on  active  duty,  and  that  the  remainder 
should  be  kept  on  shelves  in  the  police-office,  ready  to  be  called 
out  at  a  moment's  notice. 


REPORT  OF  SECOND   MEETING. 


4ii 


"The  President,  awarding  the  utmost  merit  to  the  ingen- 
ious gentleman  who  had  originated  the  idea,  doubted  whether 
the  automaton  police  would  quite  answer  the  purpose.  Ke 
feared  that  noblemen  and  gentlemen  would  perhaps  require  the 
excitement  of  threshing  living  subjects. 

"  Mr.  Coppernose  submitted  that  as  the  usual  odds  in  such 
cases  were  ten  noblemen  or  gentlemen  to  one  policeman  or 
cab-driver,  it  could  make  very  little  difference  in  point  of  ex- 
citement whether  the  policeman  or  cab-driver  were  a  man  cr  a 
block.  The  great  advantage  would  be,  that  a  policeman's  limb 
might  be  knocked  off,  and  yet  he  would  be  in  a  condition  to  do 
duty  next  day.  He  might  even  give  his  evidence  next  morning 
with  his  head  in  his  hand,  and  give  it  equally  well. 

"  Professor  Muff. — Will  you  allow  me  to  ask  you,  sir,  of  what 
materials  it  is  intended  that  the  magistrates'  heads  shall  be  com- 
posed ? 

"  Mr.  Coppernose. — The  magistrates  will  have  wooden  heads 
of  course,  and  they  will  be  made  of  the  toughest  and  thickest 
materials  that  can  possibly  be  obtained. 

"  Professor  Muff. — I  am  quite  satisfied.  This  is  a  great  in- 
vention. 

"  Professor  Nogo. — I  see  but  one  objection  to  it.  It  appears 
to  me  that  the  magistrates  ought  to  talk. 

"  Mr.  Coppernose  no  sooner  heard  this  suggestion  than  he 
touched  a  small  spring  in  each  of  the  two  models  of  magistrates 
which  were  placed  upon  the  table  ;  one  of  the  figures  immedi- 
ately began  to  exclaim  with  great  volubility  that  he  was  sorry 
to  see  gentlemen  in  such  a  situation,  and  the  other  to  express  a 
fear  that  the  policeman  was  intoxicated. 

"  The  section  as  with  one  accord  declared  with  a  shout  of  ap- 
plause that  the  invention  was  complete  ;  and  the  President, 
much  excited,  retired  with  Mr.  Coppernose  to  lay  it  before  the 
council.     On  his  return, — 

"  Mr.  Tickle  displayed  his  newly  invented  spectacles,  which 
enabled  the  wearer  to  discern  in  very  bright  colours  objects  at 
a  great  distance,  and  rendered  him  wholly  blind  to  those  imme- 
diately before  him.  It  was,  he  said,  a  most  valuable  and  useful 
invention,  based  strictly  upon  the  principle  of  the  human  eye. 

"The  President  required  some  information  upon  this  point. 
He  had  yet  to  learn  that  the  human  eye  was  remarkable  for 
the  peculiarities  of  which  the  honourable  gentleman  had 
spoken. 

"Mr.  Tickle  was  rather  astonished  to  hear  this,  when  the 
President  could  not  fail  to  be  aware  that  a  large  number  of  most 


412 


THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION. 


excellent  persons  and  great  statesmen  could  see,  with  the  naked 
eye,  most  marvellous  horrors  on  West  India  plantations,  while 
they  could  discern  nothing  whatever  in  the  interior  of  Manches- 
ter cotton-miils.  He  must  know,  too,  with  "what  quickness  of 
perception  most  people  could  discover  their  neighbours'  faults, 
and  how  very  blind  they  were  to  their  own.  If  the  President 
differed  from  the  great  majority  of.  men  in  this  respect,  his  ej-e 
was  a  defective  one,  and  it  was  to  assist  his  vision  that  these 
glasses  were  made. 

"  Mr.  Blank  exhibited  a  model  of  a  fashionable  annual,  com- 
posed of  copper-plates,  gold  leaf,  and  silk  boards,  and  woiked 
entirely  by  milk  and  water. 

"  Mr.  Prosee,  after  examining  the  machine,  declared  it  to  be 
so  ingeniously  composed,  that  he  was  wholly  unable  to  discover 
how  it  went  on  at  all. 

"Mr.  Blank. — Nobody  can,  and  that  is  the  beauty  of  it." 

"  SECTION    C. — ANATOMY   AND   MEDICINE. 
"  BAR-ROOM,    BLACK   BOY    AND   STOMACH-ACHE. 
"PRESIDENT — DR.      SOEMUP.         VICE-PRESIDENTS — MESSRS.      PESSELL 
AND  MORTAIR. 

"Dr.  Grummidge  stated  to  the  section  a  most  interesting 
case  of  monomania,  and  described  the  course  of  treatment  he 
had  pursued  with  perfect  success.  The  patient  was  a  married 
lady  in  the  middle  rank  of  life,  who  having  seen  another  lady 
at  an  evening  party  in  a  full  suit  of  pearls,  was  suddenly  seized 
with  a  desire  to  possess  a  similiar  equipment,  although  her 
husband's  finances  were  by  no  means  equal  to  the  necessary 
outlay.  Finding  her  wish  ungratified,  she  fell  sick,  and  the 
symptoms  soon  became  so  alarming,  that  he,  Dr.  Grummidge, 
was  called  in.  At  this  period  the  prominent  tokens  of  the  dis- 
order were  sullenness,  a  total  indisposition  to  perform  domestic 
duties,  great  peevishness  and  extreme  languor,  except  when 
pearls  were  mentioned,  at  which  times  the  pulse  quickened,  the 
eyes  grew  brighter,  the  pupils  dilated,  and  the  patient,  after 
various  incoherent  exclamations,  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears 
and  exclaimed  that  nobody  cared  for  her,  and  she  wished  her- 
self dead.  Finding  that  the  patient's  appetite  was  affected  in 
the  presence  of  company,  he  began  by  ordering  a  total  absti- 
nence from  all  stimulants,  and  forbidding  any  sustenance  but 
weak  gruel ;  he  then  took  twenty  ounces  of  blood,  applied  a 
blistei  under  the  arms  and  on  the  chest  and  another  on  the 
back ;  having  done  which,  and  administered  five  grains  of 
calomel,  he  left  the  patient  to  her  repose.     The  next  day  she 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  MEETING. 


413 


was  somewhat  low,  but  decidedly  better  ;  and  all  appearances 
of  irritation  were  removed.  The  next  day  she  improved  still 
further,  and  on  the  next  again.  On  the  fourth  there  was  some 
appearance  of  a  return  of  the  old  symptoms,  which  no  sooner 
developed  themselves  than  he  administered  another  dose  of 
calomel,  and  left  strict  orders  that,  unless  a  decidedly  favour- 
able change  occurred  within  two  hours,  the  patient's  head 
should  be  immediately  shaved  to  the  very  last  curl.  From  that 
moment  she  began  to  mend,  and  in  less  than  four-and-twenty 
hours. was  perfectly  restored;  she  did  not  now  betray  the  least 
emotion  at  the  sight  or  mention  of  pearls  or  any  other  orna- 
ments. She  was  cheerful  and  good-humoured,  and  a  most 
beneficial  change  had  been  effected  in  her  whole  temperament 
and  condition. 

"  Mr.  Pipkin,  M.  R.  C.  S.,  read  a  short  but  most  interesting 
communication  in  which  he  sought  to  prove  the  complete  be- 
lief of  Sir  William  Courtenay,  otherwise  Thorn,  recently  shot 
at  Canterbury,  in  the  Homoeopathic  system.  The  section 
would  bear  in  mind  that  one  of  the  Homoeopathic  doctrines 
was,  that  infinitesimal  doses  of  any  medicine  which  would  oc- 
casion the  disease  under  which  the  patient  laboured,  supposing 
him  to  be  in  a  healthy  state,  would  cure  it.  Now  it  was  a  re- 
markable circumstance, — proved  in  the  evidence, — that  the 
deceased  Thorn  employed  a  woman  to  follow  him  about  all  day 
with  a  pail  of  water,  assuring  her  that  one  drop, — a  purely 
Homoeopathic  remedy,  the  section  would  observe, — placed 
upon  his  tongue  after  death,  would  restore  him.  What  was  the 
obvious  inference?  That  Thorn,  who  was  marching  and 
countermarching  in  osier  beds  and  other  swampy  places,  was 
impressed  with  a  presentment  that  he  should  be  drowned  ;  in 
which  case,  had  his  instructions  been  complied  with,  he  could 
not  fail  to  have  been  brought  to  life  again  instantly  by  his  own 
prescriptions.  As  it  was,  if  this  woman,  or  any  other  person, 
had  administered  an  infinitesimal  dose  of  lead  and  gunpowder, 
immediately  after  he  fell,  he  would  have  recovered  forthwith. 
But  unhappily  the  woman  concerned  did  not  possess  the  power 
of  reasoning  by  analogy,  or  carrying  out  a  principle,  and  thus 
the  unfortunate  gentleman  had  been  sacrificed  to  the  ignorance 
of  the  peasantry. 

"  section  d. — statistics, 
"outhouse,  black-boy  and  stomach-ache. 

"president — mr.  slug.    vice-presidents — messrs.  noakes  and 

STYLES. 

"  Mr.   Kwakley  stated  the  result  of  some  most  ingenious 


414  THE   MUDFCTG   ASSOCIATION". 

statistical  inquiries  relative  to  the  difference  between  the  value 
of  the  qualification  of  several  members  of  Parliament  as  pub- 
lished to  the  world,  and  its  real  nature  and  amount.  After  re- 
minding the  section  that  every  member  of  Parliament  for  a  town 
or  borough  was  supposed  to  possess  a  clear  freehold  estate  of 
three  hundred  pounds  per  annum,  the  honourable  gentleman 
excited  great  amusement  and  laughter  by  stating  the  exact 
amount  of  freehold  property  possessed  by  a  column  of  legisla- 
tors, in  which  he  hs.d  included  himself.  It  appeared  from  this 
table  that  the  amount  of  such  income  possessed  by  each, was  o 
pounds,  o  shillings,  and  o  pence,  yielding  an  average  of  the 
same.  (Great  laughter.)  It  was  pretty  well  known  that  there 
were  accommodating  gentlemen  in  the  habit  of  furnishing  new 
members  with  temporary  qualifications,  to  the  ownership  of 
which  they  swore  solemnly, — of  course  as  a  mere  matter  of 
form.  He  argued  from  these  data,  that  it  was  wholly  unnecessary 
for  members  of  Parliament  to  possess  any  property  at  all,  es- 
pecially as  when  they  had  none,  the  public  could  get  them  so 
much  cheaper. 

"SUPPLEMENTARY    SECTION     C — UMBUGOLOGY     AND     DITCH-WATER- 

ISTICS. 
"  PRESIDENT — MR.      GRUB.        VICE-PRESIDENTS — MESSRS.     DULL     AND 

DUMMY. 

"  A  paper  was  read  by  the  secretary  descriptive  of  a  bay 
pony  with  one  eye,  which  had  been  seen  by  the  author  standing 
in  a  butcher's  cart  at  the  corner  of  Newgate  Market.  The 
communication  described  the  author  of  the  paper  as  having,  in 
the  prosecution  of  a  mercantile  pursuit,  betaken  himself  one 
Saturday  morning  last  summer  from  Somers  Town  to  Cheap- 
side  ;  in  the  course  of  which  expedition  he  had  beheld  the  ex- 
traordinary appearance  above  described.  The  pony  had  one 
distinct  eye,  and  it  had  been  pointed  out  to  him  by  his  friend 
Captain  Blunderbore  of  the  Horse  Marines,  who  assisted  the 
author  in  his  search,  that  whenever  he  winked  this  eye  he 
whisked  his  tail,  possibly  to  drive  the  flies  off,  but  that  he  al- 
ways winked  and  whisked  at  the  same  time.  The  animal  was 
lean,  spavined,  and  tottering  ;  and  the  author  proposed  to  con- 
stitute it  of  the  family  of  Fitfordogsmeataurions.  It  certainly 
did  occur  to  him  that  there  was  no  case  on  record  of  a  pony 
with  one  clearly  defined  and  distinct  organ  of  vision,  winking 
and  whisking  at  the  same  moment. 

"  Mr.  Q.  J.  Snuffletoffle  had  heard  of  a  pony  winking  his 
eye,  and  likewise  of  a  pony  whisking  his  tail,  but  whether  they 


REPORT   OF  SECOND   MEETING. 


415 


were  two  ponies  or  the  same  pony  he  could  not  undertake 
positively  to  say.  At  all  events  he  was  acquainted  with  no 
authenticated  instance  of  a  simultaneous  winking  and  whisking, 
and  he  really  could  not  but  doubt  the  existence  of  such  a  mar- 
vellous pony  in  opposition  to  all  those  natural  laws  by  which 
ponies  were  governed.  Referring,  however,  to  the  mere  ques- 
tion of  his  one  organ  of  vision,  might  he  suggest  the  possibility 
of  this  pony  having  been  literally  half  asleep  at  the  time  he  was 
seen,  and  having  closed  only  one  eye  ? 

"  The  President  observed,  that  whether  the  pony  was  half 
asleep  or  fast  asleep,  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  associa- 
tion was  awake,  and  therefore  that  they  had  better  get  the  busi- 
ness over  and  go  to  dinner.  He  had  certainly  never  seen  any- 
thing analogous  to  this  pony  ;  but  he  was  not  prepared  to 
doubt  its  existence,  for  he  had  seen  many  queerer  ponies  in  his 
time,  though  he  did  not  pretend  to  have  seen  any  more  re- 
markable donkeys  than  the  other  gentlemen  around  him. 

"  Professor  John  Ketch  was  then  called  upon  to  exhibit  the 
skull  of  the  late  Mr.  Greenacre,  which  he  produced  from  a  blue 
bag,  remarking,  on  being  invited  to  make  any  observations  that 
occurred  to  him,  '  that  he'd  pound  it  as  that  'ere  'spectable 
section  had  never  seed  a  more  gamerer  cove  nor  he  vos.' 

"  A  most  animated  discussion  upon  this  interesting  relic 
ensued;  and  some  difference  of  opinion  arising  respecting  the 
real  character  of  the  deceased  gentleman,  Mr.  Blubb  delivered 
a  lecture  upon  the  cranium  before  him,  clearly  showing  that 
Mr.  Greenacre  possessed  the  organ  of  destructiveness  to  a 
most  unusual  extent,  with  a  most  remarkable  development  of 
the  organ  of  carveativeness.  Sir  Hookham  Snivey  was  pro- 
ceeding to  combat  this  opinion,  when  Professor  Ketch  suddenly 
interrupted  the  proceedings  by  exclaiming,  with  great  excite- 
ment of  manner,  '  Walker  ! ' 

"  The  President  begged  to  call  the  learned  gentleman  to 
order. 

"  Professor  Ketch. — '  Order  be  blowed  !  you've  got  the 
wrong  'tin,  I  tell  you.  It  ain't  no  ed  at  all  ;  it's  a  coker-nut 
as  my  brother-in-law  has  been  a  carvin'  to  hornament  his  new 
baked-tatur  stall  vots  a-coming  down  here  vile  the  'sociation's 
in  the  town.     Hand  over,  vill  you  ?  ' 

"  With  these  words  Professor  Ketch  hastily  repossessed  him- 
self of  the  cocoanut,  and  drew  forth  the  skull,  in  mistake  for 
which  he  had  exhibited  it.  A  most  interesting  conversation 
ensued  ;  but  as  there  appeared  some  doubt  ultimately  whether 
the  skull  was  Mr.  Greenacre' s,  or  a  hospital  patient's,  or  a  pau- 


4i6 


THE   MUDFOC    ASSOCIATION 


per's,  or   a  man's,  or  a  woman's,  or   a  monkey's,  no   particular 
result  was  attained. 

"  I  cannot,"  says  our  talented  correspondent  in  conclusion, 
— "I  cannot  close  my  account  of  these  gigantic  researches  and 
sublime  and  noble  triumphs,  without  repeating  a  bon-mot  of 
Professor  Woodensconce's,  which  shows  how  the  greatest  minds 
may  occasionally  unbend,  when  truth  can  be  presented  to  listen- 
ing ears,  clothed  in  an  attractive  and  playful  form.  I  was 
standing  by,  when,  after  a  week  of  feasting  and  feeding,  that 
learned  gentleman,  accompanied  by  the  whole  body  of  wonder- 
ful men,  entered  the  hall  yesterday,  where  a  sumptuous  dinner 
was  prepared ;  where  the  richest  wines  sparkled  on  the  board, 
and  fat  bucks — propitiatory  sacrifices  to  learning — -sent  forth 
their  savory  odors.  '  Ah  ! '  said  Professor  Woodensconce,  rub- 
bing his  hands,  '  this  is  what  we  meet  for  ;  this  is  what  inspires  us  ; 
this  is  what  keeps  us  together,  and  beckons  us  onward  ; 
this  is  the  spread  of  science,  and  a  glorious  spread  it  is  ! '  " 


THE    END. 


V.'.l- 

dr. 

the 

bin 

thi: 

thii 


Thi 


Renewed  books^e 


\^!3^^9fi^- 1 


(P200l8l0)476-A-32 


r^neral  Library 
;SSy  of  California 


University 


Berkeley 


Berkele 


,_<»uiurnja 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


